Gold Dust Woman
by J.L.Finch
Summary: Jimmy Novak dies the night of The Rapture, forcing Castiel to take his young daughter, Claire, as a vessel. Dean doesn't want to forgive him, but with an apocalypse looming over their heads and his brother all but out of commission he has no choice. Together, the two keep on with the family business: saving people, hunting things, and, you know, trying not to let the world end.
1. Chapter 1

_**Notes: This is a canon divergence series: Jimmy dies, Castiel stays in Claire Novak. She's 18 here, for all intents and purposes. Please enjoy and review!**_

* * *

 **The Rapture**

* * *

Dean had stayed in a lot of motel rooms over the years. Bit of an understatement, really. Some he'd camp in for the night. It didn't matter what they looked like then. Any hole in the ground on the side of the road would do. He hadn't gotten lice yet, but he always crossed his fingers before going in. Other rooms he'd have to stay in for months and those he was pickier about. Nice enough for clean towels and maybe a free cup of Folgers in the morning, but not so nice that the owners asked a lot of questions. He'd been in so many that they all blurred together, a wash of faded shag carpet, stylish partitions, and peeling wallpaper.

He remembered a few, though. Kind of like how people remembered where they were when they found out about 9/11. It was never a good memory, always traumatic in some way, and he got the chills whenever the decor was situated just right to remind him... of whatever it was.

He'd remember this room. Just because of how freaky the whole thing felt. And how the silence stretched on. Rarely did he and Sam ever have visitors in one of these places and now it was crowded, with Jimmy Novak on the edge of one bed and his wife and daughter sitting adjacent at a small table.

When Dean couldn't stand the sound of his own leg shaking anymore, he scrubbed a hand down his face and announced that he was going on a food run.

An hour and two cigarettes later, he toed the door open. No one had moved. Who could have guessed? Even Sam hadn't, standing pensively in 'his' corner, arms crossed and enormous brow furrowed.

This was a shitty situation. If he could have given Novak the time with his family that he deserved, Dean would have. But the guy had already gone AWOL and had gotten the girls' asses kicked by messengers from the nether realm.

Full plastic bags rustled in his arms. Maybe it was Mom's influence, but food... oh, food made everything better. Even if he looked like somebody's grandmother trying to dole it out. "Alright, I've got a couple of burgers here, fries, onion rings, pumpkin pie, couple of sodas... Let's at least think on a full stomach."

He gripped the styrofoam trays and passed them around one by one. Jimmy was the first to open his. Amelia shifted uncomfortably in her chair, lips pursed. At her husband's pleading eyes, she unceremoniously flipped open the lid. Claire chewed on a soda straw.

"What's your name?" Dean asked the girl, grunting as he slid a tray her way. He suspected that at least she would talk to him and then this whole silence thing could be over with.

She was blonde, her hair bone-straight. And she looked like she'd just walked out of Sunday school. The pressed collar of a button-down peeked out from under a cardigan. There were stockings on her legs, under a small skirt, and she wore short black heels. That would explain her falling so easily when that black-eyed bastard had close-lined her in the kitchen.

"Claire," she answered, voice light and airy.

"How's the ankle?"

"Better." She gave it a twist. Small fingers snatched up a fry. The movement was so delicate she could have been playing Jenga in there.

"I didn't get anything weird on it," Dean offered when he noticed her reluctance to go anywhere near the tin foil wrapping. "Cheese and ketchup." Same as Sam's order when he was a kid. Figured she could have been just as picky. Dean pointed in his brother's direction. "That one pukes at the smell of onions."

"No, I'm a vegetarian," Claire explained politely and, yeah. That made sense. Her limbs were all scrawny. Thin and lean and the only ounce of fat on her was perky and sweater-clad. Dean hadn't meant to let his eyes linger.

"Just eat it, sweetie." Jimmy nudged tiredly.

"I'm not hungry, Dad."

Huh, Dean thought. That had had a carnivorous bite to it. Maybe Claire wasn't huge on ground beef, but absentee-father was fair game and on the menu. Sucked to be Jimmy.

"I went vegan once, in college." Sam coughed around his burger. "I've got a protein bar you can have when you are."

Dean gave her a wink. "Smart girl. Just means more pie for you."

"Claire, Amelia, could we have a second?" Jimmy asked.

Claire stared on defiantly, but Amelia grabbed her wrist and tugged. "Come on."

There was a silence that followed after the door shut. Jimmy stood, working himself up to something, and Dean expected to hear something along the lines of _you told me so, now what?_ Instead, he got, "Not my daughter, Dean."

"What?"

"I said not my daughter, you son of a bitch. You don't look at her. You don't talk to her." In his trench coat and at his full height, Jimmy looked like Cas again. And with that threatening, garbled tone, the one the angel used almost exclusively, he was downright menacing. Except Dean knew he was only looking at an accountant. A mad accountant, but an accountant. No otherworldly being in there.

"I've seen how you hunters live. I couldn't see everything, but sometimes I..." Jimmy's fist closed and he let out a sigh. "You get it where you can, when you can. Strip clubs, bars, hook-ups and then it's thanks-for-the-ride. I'm saying not my daughter. Not ever. I don't care what happens to me or Amelia. This is no life for her. Castiel made a promise that THAT girl would be safe-!"

"Woah, woah!" Sam pressed, rounding the bed with his hands up in surrender while Dean still sat dumbfounded, brows raised. "Listen, we're gonna figure out how to keep them safe, however we can. We're still not the enemy here, and Claire's gonna be fine... do you - do you have reason to believe that something might happen? Jimmy? Something bad?"

Damn, Sam was quick on the draw. Always had been. Jimmy had finally cracked. Wide open. Splat. Like an egg. Dean wiped at his mouth with a paper napkin. Someone had to cut him a break, Cas (or the image of Cas) had just called him a man-slut.

"I mean," Jimmy bit out in frustration. Then he sighed. His voice was strangled. "I wasn't his first choice."

"His first choice... for a vessel?" Sam tried.

"It doesn't matter. I just want to hear you say it. No matter what happens, you don't let Claire get involved in this, or with you, or with any of your friends."

"Sure, man. Whatever happens. Right, Sam?" Dean expertly deflected.

"Uh... right." Sam agreed slowly.

But Sam wasn't the one who had a thing for cheerleaders (like the ones he could never get in high school). And with a body like that, Claire had to be one. Jimmy was right. Dean could have hung his head in shame. He ought to be taken out back and neutered. Or just plain shot.

* * *

Sam patted the back of the rental car. A short family reunion after two years apart, but it was the right thing to do. And now Jimmy knew it, too. The younger Winchester doubted he'd give them any more trouble in the "sneaking off" department.

That was a good thing. It meant they could get back to doing their job and focusing on where the hell Cas went and why.

Dean, on the other hand... Of course, he couldn't be happy about it. Or even a little relieved, after all the effort it'd taken to get them to this point. Sam spared a glance his way. His brother was lit under the streetlight with his fists shoved in his jean pockets. Scowling.

Dad had always said Dean was a glass-half-empty kind of guy.

Even if the sacrifice and pain of others were for the greater good, Dean couldn't stand it. He wore it on his shoulders until they were heavy with the load of it all. Sam had learned early on that that kind of thinking got hunters killed. But maybe that was why Dean had survived hell, the way he had, coming out semi-normal and all. He could take a personal beating like it was nobody's business.

Sam walked over to him, pulling his coat tighter around him. A crisp night in Illinois. It made him yearn for the Texas weather they'd left behind. "Hey," he breathed.

"Hey," Dean grunted, watching the rental carrying Jimmy's wife and Claire roll on. The backlights were fading fast.

"Good job on not getting clocked earlier."

"Come on, man." Dean grit his teeth, defensive. "I wasn't exactly moving on the target. Okay? Girl's been through enough. I can keep it in my pants. Hey! I can! Had enough dads threatening me with a shotgun before."

"Too bad all he had was Cas' sword or he might have leveled you."

"Yeah, what the hell was that about?"

"He seems pretty worried that Claire might be next in line for the whole angelic body snatch."

"That's stupid." At Sam's look, Dean doubled down. "Cas wouldn't do that. Ever. I know the guy, alright? Better than you do. So trust me on this. And besides, Jimmy's still up and kicking."

"For now. Until another demon tries to pry his head open to see what makes him tick."

"Which is why he's with us. We keep him alive until Cas gets back."

"We don't exactly have the best track record at the moment. And Anna did say that Cas seriously pissed off some people upstairs. If Jimmy does know something-"

"Would you stop? You're giving me the willies, making me think of Cas in some-" Dean's hands moved to cup at his chest, then he shrugged. "Guess that would make him less of an eyesore."

"Sure, Dean."

"I'm just saying."

"Don't. Father of the Bride's on your six."

Dean turned his head and there was Jimmy, stalking toward them with his head hung low, eyes to the ground. That first time around, he'd thought he was giving himself up to some divine cause. A servant of God. No better title in the world. He'd had no idea what he was getting into or what he was leaving behind. Now, he... he knew alright. Where he was going, there would be no houses lined up a neat little row, no freshly mowed grass, no white picket fences. Just a whole lot of Pink Floyd and kaleidoscope colors.

Dean's stomach sank for the guy.

* * *

 _Just another day on the job_ , Dean thought as he peered around the cater-cornered edge that was his hiding spot. They were back in that mangled factory. The crime scene, he called it. It was the site of Cas' disappearance, where there had obviously been a struggle. The whole place was nothing but crumbling sheetrock, broken glass, and rhubarb. Tetanus-ridden rhubarb, at that. He minded his hands. _Yeah, just a Wednesday._

With a nod from Dean that the coast was clear, Sam advanced.

At the center of it all was Claire, tied to a chair. Her mother sneered over her shoulder at her. Only it wasn't Amelia at all. Just another run-of-the-mill, grunt demon. And Claire, she was handling it well. Better than Jimmy, who had walked through the front door and forgotten their plan: stall, until Dean could think of a better plan. He was crying and begging and all but willing to make a deal for their lives.

Dean couldn't blame him. It was just... jarring, still. It wasn't Jimmy's fault that every time Dean looked at him, he saw Cas. The angel would have come in guns blazing like Rambo or the Terminator. And _he_ would have had a plan of attack with all the details written out for them.

Claire was the smart one. "It's okay, Daddy," she panted to him. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm okay."

"I'm so sorry, baby," he sobbed.

"I know. But it's okay." And then that girl - that sweet, soft little thing - look the demon right in the eye. She made it her bitch. "Because he's talking to me. Castiel."

"Is he now?" the demon said slowly. It leaned down so that Claire could smell all the fire and brimstone on its breath. This one must have been a real chronological lier in life because it expected a trick at every corner. "And just what is he saying to you, sweetheart?"

She leaned back. "I can't hear him if you're talking, too. I just... need a minute."

Sam advanced again.

"A minute," it hissed, pleased. It turned on its heel. "Guess you're chopped liver, Jimbo. What'd you ever do to piss off- no, wait. I bet I know what it is. Angel wants a new haircut. _Oooh_ , boy, do I GET that. As soon as we're done here, I'm dropping this hag down a hole. Seriously, would it have killed you to pay for a decent boob job? ...your daughter's practically jailbait. All supple and lean. And so soft. And you? You're broke down. Wrinkled and gray." The demon frowned for him. "If I had Castiel's kind of stats, I'd want something a little more fashionable, too."

Dean made the whole ten feet to the opposite wall, but his foot caught in the dirt at Jimmy's outburst. _Shit_. "Shut up, shut up! I'll fucking kill you, you evil son of a bitch!"

"Dad-" Claire begged. She'd seen Dean. Their eyes had met. She knew. If they'd kept that demon ranting just another minute - another minute - he could have gotten to her.

"The way I see it?" The demon grinned and leveled a gun on Jimmy. "We don't even NEED to unspool your brains. This shit's generational! Isn't it?" Jimmy couldn't pretend that it wasn't, even if he wanted to. Two thousands years of them not knowing and the demon's had finally figured it out. "So, we'll kill you both and call it a day! No more Castiel. No more angel general to screw up our plans. Why don't we handle his cute little soldier boys while we're at it, too?"

Strong hands grabbed at Dean and Sam and pulled them from the wreckage. Oh, crap-! They'd forgotten about the freakin' neighbors. Here was the bush in ambush and yet Cas was still nowhere to be seen. _Come on, man... You can't leave these people to die like this. Phone a friend if you can't get down here! Because my ass is about to get fried with them!_

"Knife up the girl first. I want him to watch."

"HEY-!" Dean shouted, moving to jerk free from the hold, but it was no good. Jimmy was screaming. Sam lifted a newly free hand and strained, but nothing. No juice. Of all the times Dean wished his brother had the juice in him...

"You think you're gonna win this fight?" Claire snapped suddenly. She was flushed, panting, and there was sweat on her brow. Her lips forced a smile. "I know something you don't know."

God, Dean could only imagine how scared she was. The guy who'd given her Halloween candy every year was holding a blade to her throat. It bit into her skin and she winced. Blood dripped down to her collarbone. At the look the boss-demon gave him, he stopped.

There was a pause. Amelia's eyes narrowed and, out of sheer spite - gunfire. Jimmy was down like his body was made out of bricks. Claire screamed. She couldn't help it. She cried, fat tears rolling down her face, taking big snot-filled breaths.

Then it all... stopped. Her face went stony and still. It was as if someone had flipped the off switch. Her arm broke through the ropes and lifted to burn the demon out of Amelia's skull, burned it down to nothingness so that not even hell would take it back. The distraction was enough for Dean and Sam to break free and fists went flying.

Push. Shove. Uppercut. Dean took a blow to the chin and gave it right back, so hard that the demon spun onto the ground. Then he knifed him. Dean knew the cost but he was no less satisfied by the end result. They'd put this family through hell, literally. The entire night had been one big shit storm.

It wasn't until he got up, breathing hard, that he saw it. Jimmy was dead, his wife was dead, and their daughter stood quietly over the both of them. Dean's stomach dropped between his knees.

Goddamnit, he'd never seen something so heartbreaking in all his life. "...Cas?"

Claire looked at him and yeah, there was something in those steel eyes that told him. Cas was in there and he'd fucked up. Majorly. Dean felt like he might hurl because maybe they were to blame for this, too. Because if Jimmy had never left... But then, Cas' face went all hard. Dean followed his line of sight.

Sam's mouth was covered in blood - demon blood. _Oh, not now, Sammy..._ God, he thought they'd just gotten him clean... Now Cas was leaving.

 _No, wait-_ "Cas!"

The angel stopped. Claire seemed taller with the ethereal being in her. Scarier. There was a tiredness about her face now that aged her. It was the same tiredness his Dad wore, that Bobby wore, that just about every guy that age wore. After a battle gone horribly wrong, they were sad, but they'd seen enough bad in the world to expect things to just turn out that way.

Dean wanted to ask _what now? When are you gonna hop out and find someone else? Because obviously..._ obviously, Cas wouldn't ride around in her. Damn, would he-?

This was beyond messed up.

Dean knew he could only handle one thing at a time. Frankly, his brother was more important. Claire wouldn't feel a thing until Cas could find a cousin in a coma somewhere, and of course, he would, so... so.

"What were you gonna tell me?" he asked, desperate to know. To make all of this worth it, somehow.

Castiel was slow to answer. When he opened Claire's mouth, the words came out guttural and angry. "I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean. I serve heaven. I don't serve man. And I certainly don't serve you."

Then Cas left in a swish of a short skirt.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: There will be some pronoun swapping in these earlier chapters, depending on the POV of the character. I hope it's not too confusing. Later, once characters are used to things, it'll be 'she' more often than not.**

* * *

 **When The Levee Breaks**

* * *

There was only so much of Sam's whimpering that Dean could take. His baby brother... damn Ruby. Damn her. His fist clenched at a wailing scream and Bobby's eyes were on him, full of sympathy and pity. It made him sick to the stomach.

Sam begged for the pain to go away. All Dean could think was that that sound had come from the same kid he'd tucked into bed every night. It was never their bed, technically. It was never in their home. But he'd done it. He'd turned off the T.V. at nine o'clock, even when he was old enough and sure as hell willing enough to stay up. Catch a little Beavis and Butthead...

They'd tracked and slaughtered everything that hell had to throw at them, including monsters from Reva-freakin'-lations. The apocalypse! And addiction... addiction was what did them in?

Dean pushed off the couch.

"Where are you goin'?" Bobby asked, a little too eager to see him up. The old man wanted Sam out of that basement so he could use him to finish the job. That was never going to happen.

"To get some air," Dean growled back, snatching his coat off the rack.

Outside, he paced the lot. He weaved through Bobby's blockade of mangled junkers. Not one of them would ever see the road again. They barely had any parts left to scrap. Empty, rusting shells of what they'd once been. Dean counted off the bodies in his head. A Lincoln Continental, '62. And that one, a Chevrolet, early '50s. They'd been proud, indestructible, and gas-guzzling in their day and now... look.

He really, really... hated to do this. "Cas!"

Dean waited. He watched the dark horizon, turning where he stood, in case he decided to show up behind him. He always did that. No answer, nothing but a dial tone. _Well, not tonight, you slow prick._ "CAS! Get your feathered ass down here! I need to talk to you! Now!"

The angel wouldn't give him the time of day anymore - hadn't since Jimmy died. Then he'd gone all cryptic on his ass. _I certainly don't serve you._ Just what the hell did that mean? He hadn't come by. He hadn't offered help. He hadn't gotten out of Claire. He had a lot of explaining to do and it'd been days. Dean was officially pissed.

He started pacing again, kicking up gravel and sand. "Don't you fucking ignore me. Not now. CASTIEL!" Dean shot the tool shed an accusatory glance. He popped his jaw. "Bird-brained, cowardly, cradle robbing, heartless, son of a BITCH!"

His foot caved in a backlight and then he was movingly wildly, just so he could feel the adrenaline. Cas had been his friend. And Dean hadn't had many of those in his life, not that he was so pathetic and desperate that he couldn't _live_ without one. But it'd been nice, for once, to have someone-... other than Sam... The thought made what he had to say next turn to bile. His throat closed and he croaked. "I need you, man. Where are you?"

And still, nothing. But Dean didn't stop there. He called and he called. He rang the doorbell like a hungry fat kid on Halloween. He used every curse his ex-Marine of a father had ever taught him. He did everything but get to his knees and steeple his hands - no, the "angel" wouldn't get that.

It wasn't until Dean had given up hope that he did appear, under an old street lamp. Sioux Falls had forgotten to turn it off after Bobby bought the land from them. Now, it beamed down onto Castiel, casting dark shadows over his feminine brow and making his blonde hair look a sickly yellow. The button-down that had been tucked into her skirt now peeked out messily. She... he... looked exhausted.

Tough shit. "It's about damn time. I've been screaming myself hoarse for two and a half hours, Cas."

The angel grimaced. He'd been hearing it for two and a half hours. "What do you want?"

His voice was nothing like Claire's. Dean had heard Claire's and now he really, really wished he hadn't. It'd been all soft and girlish. Now it sounded like she had a sore throat. A symptom of the angel-virus. Sorry, no cure.

She was another civilian Dean couldn't save, another kid whose life had been ruined by Satan's cronies - and oh, she'd gone out swinging. And scared. And in pain. She hadn't deserved that. Maybe Cas was next on the list after Ruby. He hadn't decided yet but Dean was pissed enough to put a knife in him. "You can start with what the hell happened in Illinois."

Castiel sighed and stalked forward. "You were there."

"You couldn't have gotten there any faster? Goddamnit, Cas, I _defended_ you!"

"I don't need defending." He turned his head, watching the house as if he could see inside of it with X-ray vision. "Or any more lessons in morality."

"Cut the crap, Cas." Dean's heart was pounding; he could feel it all the way up in his throat. This wasn't his angel. They'd done something to him up there. Twisted him all around so he'd play the part of the loyal general again.

Dean's lower lip trembled. "You were gonna tell me something."

Castiel closed his eyes. "It was nothing of import."

"You got ass-reamed in heaven." He put that big, fat elephant in the room right where it ought to have been. "But it was nothing of import?"

"I'm can't, Dean..." Only he looked like he really, really wanted to. "I'm sorry."

He scrubbed his hand over his face. "And I can't look at you - in her. It's wrong. Do you get that? It's wrong."

"I don't disagree that it is unfortunate."

"God, you're a dick these days."

"Did you call only to reprimand me? Or was there a reason?"

Dean felt like a kid. Cas was giving him the 'you wanna do this now?' look like he was a toddler throwing a fit in a grocery store. He wasn't a kid. He was a grown man who'd just smashed a car window. "Yeah!" Dean jutted angrily and then, dumbly, "no... You've been MIA for weeks, Cas. You couldn't leave a voicemail?"

His arms swung limply at his sides. "I don't know what that is."

"Then a letter, damn it! Let us know what's going on!"

"I have no news to give you. But I have not abandoned you." He stepped forward into his space and Dean stepped back. Cas felt more like an alien to him now than ever. Undeterred, Cas rasped, "You're worried for him."

Dean gave a hollow laugh. "Yeah. You could say that."

"You said you needed me."

Dean licked his lips. "Can he do it, Cas? Can he kill Lilith? End the apocalypse?"

Castiel stared for a long time before he turned his back to him. "He won't have to end it, Dean. We believe that it will be you who will deliver the final blow."

"What do I do?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Now you wait."

* * *

Apparently, twenty-four hours was all they'd needed. They beamed him up to this white parlor room that looked like it belonged in a French castle.

"How are you liking the new look?" Zachariah asked, motioning to the angel behind him. He turned and gave Castiel a once over as if to reaffirm his own opinion. His fingers pressed to his lips. "It doesn't read very five-star general to me, but eeeeh... it'll do. And soon we'll all be sipping pina coladas in Cabo anyway, right?"

They'd shoved Cas in some black dress. That was the angel uniform: lawyer black. Only he'd ended up with something sleeveless and v-necked and sort of hip-hugging and just different from the rest of them to piss Dean off. They were pissing Dean off a lot these days.

Zachariah put a hand to Castiel's shoulder and gave him a half-spin. "That is a bikini body if I've ever seen one. Really! I should have gone out and found myself someone with abs not made out of funnel cake." The angel laughed until he realized no one else got the joke. "Like... you, for instance." He gestured politely, weakly to Dean.

But Dean couldn't say a word. Because the last time he'd heard a line like that? It'd been from a demon. Suddenly, everything in that white room looked a little more cheap, felt a little less real. He and Cas stared. They both knew that it didn't matter what Cas was wearing or who had pointed out his perky little rear, Dean wouldn't look twice at it.

He should have known then that every line he'd been fed that night had been bullshit.

Zach offered food. He offered wine. He offered women and celebrities and the seven wonders and Cas, which was... gross. _No_ , he'd answered emphatically. He gave Castiel his leave and he disappeared with a nod.

"What about a meet-n-greet with the cast of Gilligan's Island?" the angel tried again.

Honestly, all of it made Dean feel like a pig being stuffed for the slaughter. Just put an apple in his mouth already.

* * *

"You need help with the turkey, ma?" Jimmy pulled himself up out of a La-Z-Boy. Everything smelled like gingerbread and Mom's too-crips sugar cookies and he loved that - he really did. Football was on the TV and his dad snored soundly on the couch. Claire was at his feet. She'd just turned 11. In her hands was the DS she loved to play, a pale pink one, the same color as her nails. She worried her lip over some kind of problem in the game world. He could have smacked her on the back of the head for choosing to live in a screen, but instead, he gave her a pet and smiled.

Lights from the Christmas tree twinkled as he passed into the kitchen.

"Yes, please," his mother grunted, gray hair hanging in her face as she leaned over the oven. "It probably won't be any good this year."

"You always say that," Jimmy answered affectionately. "And it's always great."

She scooted out of the way for him and Jimmy just as the doorbell rang.

"That must be your sister," she fretted. "She's early. I told her not to come until six!"

"It's alright." After balancing the turkey dish on the oven burners, he went to get the door. It was still snowing. He idly noticed that it'd almost buried the reindeer decorations in the front yard. "She probably left early to beat the storm."

It never once crossed his mind that his sister and her children were dead. They'd been T-boned on their way to the elementary school. And his mom, too, she'd fallen on her hip. After a stressful year that'd all but destroyed his already cobbled-together marriage, she'd finally slipped his fingers. Dad had gone quickly. Stroke.

When he opened the door, it was his daughter that stared back at him. "Castiel," he smiled slowly. "You hungry? Mom made enough to feed an army."

* * *

The world couldn't end like this.

Dean paced the room. It'd been without its doors since Zachariah had admitted to being the king of all snakes. The angels wanted all the work to stop, he'd said. The angels didn't want to listen to God anymore. The angels wanted a permanent vacation in Eden because _someone_ hadn't invited them the first time! _Beach body, Cabo, Porky Pig_ \- well, screw them!

The world couldn't end like this.

Dean just wanted to take it all back. Sam could be an idiot sometimes. He was so like their dad, all unrelentingly obsessed. He didn't care if he turned himself into a monster so long as he got what he wanted, which made Dean want to spit nails. But Bobby was right. As tired as Dean was of chasing a brother who'd made it pretty damn clear from the start that he didn't give a damn about him... he was his Sammy. He gave a damn about _him_. He couldn't just stop.

He couldn't let his last words to him be - what they'd been...

And the devil sure as hell wasn't about to ride Sam's ass into the middle of this cataclysmic cockfight.

He'd try calling him.

* * *

"I'm afraid I can't stay long." Castiel stepped inside at his invitation. Her clothes were dry, untouched by a single snowflake. She didn't shiver. She didn't flush. He would have offered to take her coat, but... She took a moment to look appreciatively around the foyer. Her gaze stopped on an antique nutcracker. "Though, I do love holiday heavens. They are some of my favorites... Would you be willing to speak with me?"

"Sure, Castiel." He snorted before turning to guide her out back. "I'm in better moods these days."

They sat together on a porch swing. A mug of hot cocoa rested in Jimmy's hand and he rocked them with his heels.

"It's beautiful," Castiel finally said.

"Yeah," he sighed.

Her eyes drifted over to him with an understanding. "You and Amelia were separated."

"I had Claire on Christmas Eve. She had her on Christmas."

"You were surrounded by the people you loved."

He shot her another smile. "Still am. Just get to do it for a lot longer now..." After a beat, he asked, "What are you doing in my daughter?"

Her face fell. "I failed you. So _utterly_ and completely, Jimmy Novak. You are owed an apology for the pain that I've caused."

His brows furrowed. There was so much he still didn't understand. "Why didn't you come?"

"I was ordered not to."

"I wonder why that is."

"My superiors had their reasons."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. If he were a betting man, he'd have put big money on one reason: destroy whatever was happening between Dean Winchester and Castiel. Dean wouldn't have anything to do with her once he knew what a heartless monster she was. He wouldn't trust her, not if he knew that she'd take a teenage girl without a second thought. Then they could stop conspiring behind heaven's back, right?

Typical.

Jimmy wanted to feel some sort of anger. His family had been plopped down in the middle of a war zone when the angel had explicitly promised that they'd be safe. But... he just couldn't get it up anymore. He was at peace, damn it.

"Is the world ending?"

"It seems to be, yes."

"You're not going to let that happen." The angel avoided his eye. "Castiel?"

"It's destiny."

"It's baloney."

"I realize you have a predilection for red meat, but-"

"What's gonna happen to the millions of families like us if this all goes down? Are they all going to die the way we did?"

Her eyes bore into his. He knew that to Castiel he was a Rubix cube that she couldn't solve. "What is so worth saving, Jimmy Novak? All the pain that you were put through in life. Now you have this. Peace. Isn't that better?"

Jimmy sucked in a contemplative breath. He rubbed his jaw and watched from the window as the living room flooded with his nieces and nephews. Castiel turned and watched with him. "You know, it took me thirty-five years to have my perfect moment, Cas. I didn't get many of them. My heaven's kinda small. Like an hour long VHS tape," he laughed. "There are a whole lot of people down there who have it a whole lot worse than I ever did. Some of them haven't had their perfect moment yet." The corner of his lips turned up as he watched his daughter hug his mom tight. "I would never take this away from anybody."

Castiel leaned her elbows into her knees. Her hair fell into her face. "There's nothing I can do. Sam is going to kill Lilith, and the end will be- inevitable... Regardless of right or wrong or motivations-"

"That's quitter talk. We shared a brain, Castiel. I'm pretty sure the general could have an ace up her sleeve if she wanted to have an ace up her sleeve.

"Jimmy!" his mother called. The older man stood and finished off his mug.

"You wanna apologize? Do it for me. Do it for my family." Then he went into the house and left Castiel on the porch in the snow.

* * *

"I'm guessing you're not here to help me," Dean spat before a hand slammed down on his mouth.

"Quiet," Castiel hissed back. "We're leaving."

"Seriously, Cas?" Dean thought he might just hurl in relief. Maybe then his heart would slow the hell down. "You're awesome. I've been trying to call, but-"

"You're out of your covered zone. Don't thank me yet, Dean. I'm the one who helped Sam escape."

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. He closed it again. "Why am I friends with you?"

The angel looked over at him with more emotion than he'd ever seen from him before. "Because I'm sorry. And I'd like to make up for it now."

Dean stared down at the offered arm before he took it, hand clamping down firmly. "Good enough for me, man. Let's show Zachariah where he can stick his Armageddon."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sympathy For The Devil**

* * *

What. A. Mess.

Literally.

The human body had been a flawed design. He only had himself to blame for the nightmare that was his kitchen. Billions of years ago, he'd thought, hey, let's make 'em fleshy. Let's give them lots of soft bits and wet bits and cover it all in a Saran wrap of skin. No one's ever thought of doing that before!

Chuck paced around a toppled-over table, biting the nail on his thumb.

Lucifer had been right: they _did_ pop like water balloons. He hadn't accounted for that, especially not when he'd made that prototype out of sand.

Chunks of Castiel everywhere...

What a surprise his son had turned out to be. "I'm losing my touch," Chuck whispered to himself as he pulled strands of blonde hair free from his shirt sleeve. He held them out in front of him. "Cas, Cas, Cas... you weren't supposed to fold that easily."

Rewrite after rewrite, and yet Dean and his own angel general had gotten out from under him. Flipped the script on him. They tore the damn thing in two! Dean was never supposed to reach Sam in time. He was supposed to say yes while backed into a corner. And then heaven and hell were supposed to have the water balloon fight to end all water balloon fights. He'd scrap the Earth as his first and worst ever draft (A virgin birth? Really?) and start a new, better novel.

Chuck growled on his way to the bathroom. His slippers noisily scuffed the floor.

Dean, saying yes, while backed into a corner... Sam ushing in the age of Lucifer unknowingly... It was the best he could come up with.

His met his tired eyes in the mirror. No, Cas had been right. That ending had sucked. No choice? No great big culmination of their character arcs? He dug his fists into his eyes and groaned.

So what now?

It still had to happen, one way or another. But they had to make that choice on their own. It had to be grandiose. Self-sacrificing! That was their whole thing, wasn't it? It had to be about love, for one another, for their friends and family. It had to be about the greater good.

There was a noise behind him. Chuck turned his head, listening. Another unexpected guest. Now, he was all about letting his characters have free will, but whose story was this anyway? He needed time to think, damn it!

How did they make it back from the airport so fast anyway?

He grabbed the plunger, marched right back out to his living room, and smacked Sam across the face with it. Chuck feigning confusion right after, even though it'd felt so, sooo good. "Sam!"

"Yeah?!" Sam looked at him like his fifth head was showing.

"Hey, Chuck," Dean greet him.

"So, you're okay!" Chuck rounded him, making to sound amazed, which... all things considered...

"Well, my head hurts." Sam rubbed at where he'd struck him. Being a full foot taller than Chuck's own vessel, Sam couldn't be too angry about it.

"No, my last vision-... forget about it. I think I'm being fed the wrong signal these days," Chuck began foreshadowing his latest idea, but then... he stopped. He watched Dean, staring at where he'd last seen his ally, at the mess left behind. His brows were knitted and he rocked from side to side on the heels of his feet. A nervous tick of his.

Cabinet doors had broken off their hinges and blood was smeared over a cereal box. "Where's Cas?" Dean finally said. Like Cas was the only one who couldn't possibly just up and die on him.

"Oh, dude, man... He's gone," Chuck whispered back. "Raphael put his outsides inside and his insides... well, on my wall..."

Castiel had _known_ that that mean son of a bitch was gonna tear him in two for helping Dean. He'd wanted a warrior's death. A good ending. Atonement. If only Chuck had written it, he thought sourly.

In a way, all the changes had been worth it, though, because the little moment that Dean was having...? It was coming together beautifully.

"I'm sorry. He put up a good fight."

Dean licked his lips. "You're sure? Maybe he flew away at the last second or something," he stuttered. "He does that. One second he's there, the next-"

"No." He needed to apply all the right pressure here. Chuck looked up under his curly fringe. "No no no. He exploded. Like a- like a _water balloon_ full of chunky soup. There's some of him there and there... and there. I don't think he left even the bones intact. I was just, washing him- the blood- off my face when you walked in... Keep finding hair."

Dean nodded, pressing his lips together hard. He was doing that manly thing where he tried to forget that he had with a working limbic system. Sam, the one who _didn't_ , helped Chuck with finding a molar by his right ear. Claire's wisdom teeth had yet to grow in, but they sure to be around somewhere.

"Cas, you stupid..." Dean tossed a chair. It'd been a stressful day all around.

"He tried to help us," Sam argued.

"Yeah, exactly," his brother snapped back. "That's why he got yanked up to heaven 'n probed, and why he came back all screwy. That's why Jimmy's dead, why Claire's dead... And why Cas is... _gone_." He threw up his hands, preferring the word. Gone.

After a breath, he crouched low and scooped up a silver chain off the floor. It'd been Claire's, and he snuck it into his pocket.

"Hey, Chuck?"

"...yeah, Dean?"

"You know what happens to angels when they die?"

"Well, it's - it's kind of like going to sleep. After being wide awake for a couple of thousand millennia, I," he tried to sound comforting, "I hear it's peaceful."

"Peaceful. Huh."

Chuck couldn't _stop_ watching him after that.

Of course, Chuck had intended for a connection between the two. Castiel was the one who raised him from perdition. He'd led this great campaign into hell (not that anyone but the angels knew how insane that was - so many had died trying). He'd been a confidant, a guide, relatable yet so very alien to the Winchesters in so many ways. A perfect foil.

This was... a missed opportunity, Chuck realized.

Zachariah showed up with Mazula and Kafari at his side. He did his whole spiel about the apocalypse not really being his fault, about them being on the same team - _synergy_ , guys! They needed to kill Lucifer before he touched ground or else there would very literally be hell on earth.

 _Buckle up, kids._ Chuck shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"And I'm just supposed to trust you? After what you did?" Dean shouted. "No way."

Zachariah scooped up Cas' blood onto his fingers. Then he shot the Winchesters a sly look. "You don't really have a leg to stand on anymore, do you?"

"Maybe not. But today's not your day either, dick with wings." Dean pulled the sliding door closed and slammed his hand down onto it. He'd drawn a banishing symbol on it and it worked like a charm, whiting out the room with bright light and screams.

"Learned that from my friend, Cas!" he yelled up at where the angels had disappeared to.

Chuck almost smiled at how clever the two of them had been together.

A missed opportunity.

Well, that could easily be undone.

* * *

A castle on a hill of forty-two dogs.

It was Dad's storage unit. Had to be. They'd not visited the place in years, but Dean's stomach turned at thought of those black-eyed freaks putting their gross, sticky fingers on everything. His first sawed-off, Sam's soccer trophies, all the pictured they'd ever taken... They were in that unit. Dean stared from the parking lot. If they'd ever had a place to call home... well.

When they pushed open the door, bodies were strewn - limp and burned - across devil traps.

But Dad hadn't had anything to protect against an angel invasion.

"I'm a vessel," Dean echoed back to Zachariah, pointing a finger to his chest. Just to be sure. Because come on. Really?

"Isn't it fun watching the monkey put the little ball through the little hoop?" He smiled at his bodyguards. "Yes, chucklehead. _The_ vessel. You see, for this to work, it has to be a pair of brothers. Micheal and Lucifer. Cane and Able. Sam and..." his hand waved, "Dean. Let's just say you come from a long line of men who were genetically perfect the job, made readily available for when the time was right. Which is about _uuuhh_... now, if you don't mind."

Dean racked his brain for a helpful idea. Any idea would have been great, actually. Any at all.

His heart a beat when he realized that they weren't attacking. They were waiting.

"You can't do jack shit, can you?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" Zachariah frowned.

"That's right. You need my consent."

"And it'd be so much easier if you just gave it to us. Good luck with that, though, right, Dean?" He nodded understandingly. Dean suddenly got the feeling that he was going to end up with stage four stomach cancer. "But don't worry - don't worry. I've had some of my best guys looking over Title VI, subsection B, and we found a few loopholes that might work in our favor. This is going to be a cakewalk."

Zachariah snapped his fingers.

Sammy moaned and went down like a bag of bricks. Dean was really _sick_ and tired of that happening. First Bobby, now Sam-? Everyone was playing hardball today. "Hey-!"

"How about now?"

Dean licked his lips, tightened his jaw, and answered stubbornly, "...no."

Then he got stage four stomach cancer. His knees hit the concrete and he hurled blood. He couldn't see anymore, couldn't think - yeah, his day was going _great_. "Just... just kill us."

This was worth dying for.

There was a groan, and it hadn't come from him or Sam because suddenly all the pain had stopped. It'd come from Zachariah. When Dean looked up, he was hanging, bent-kneed, from a girl's tight grasp on his collar.

Cas - _holy shit..._

"All that power," she growled, blonde hair hanging loosely in her face. "And you can't even hit me. You've become a fat, greedy waste, brother."

"But you're- you're-"

"Dead?" she finished for him.

"Raphael," Zachariah stuttered. "He killed you!"

"Yes. And he was lucky to have gotten ahold of me." Her hand moved to his throat and she shoved him to the wall. "If I had known the extent of the sloth, I never would have said yes to such weak-!" A punch. "Petulant!"

Zachariah shoved her. He landed his own punch and then another, a kick to her abdomen. Castiel stumbled back. Like in an old Western, they stood off against each other. Panting. The back of Castiel's hand lifted to wipe the blood from her nose. The angels ordered to protect Zachariah stood still, wide-eyed and afraid. He cursed at them.

"You," she rumbled, "had to send us into hell because you couldn't do it yourself. You let thousands die."

Zachariah's expression turned wild. "How are you back?"

"I think we both know."

A blade slid into her hand.

"That's impossible!" he shouted.

"You think he doesn't know what you're trying to do? You don't think he's angry?" Castiel paced in a circle and Zachariah turned with her. She stopped in front of the two Winchesters. "I would leave these boys alone if I were you."

The panic was clear on his face. The angel - the big one, the head honcho as far as they knew - was actually sweating. He reached out as if to strangle Castiel but she'd lifted the blade, warning him, daring him to come closer. Something happened. Dean and Sam covered their ears as all the metal shelving crashed and fell. What felt like a dragon's tail swept the room and everything was a blur again.

Castiel was the smaller one. Instead of matching him with raw power, she was quick and moved with him. The walls of the unit shook and thunder clapped off. He pushed. She pulled. He toppled over in a fit of rage.

"Micheal would have never sent you if I hadn't told him to!" Zachariah threw something, hard. "I should have left you to rot, you ungrateful, disloyal-" Castiel twisted and slipped under his arm. Her knife came around and lodged into his neck. " _Ack-_..."

She looked up at the only other angel in the room. The one who'd avoided the fight and the one left alive. "Tell Raphael," Zachariah's body fell from her grasp, "I won't make the same mistake twice."

A flutter of wings and he was gone.

"...Cas?" Dean called out after her, standing slowly. His voice wavered as Sam crawled up behind him. "Is that you?"

She turned on her heel. Dean knew the answer already. The energy behind those steel blue eyes - there was just no mistaking her. "Dean," she breathed in relief.

"Damn, I'm glad to see you." Forgetting himself, he marched forward. He pulled her into a hug. One of those fierce bear hugs he so rarely gave... One arm around her waist and his other hand at the back of her neck. Soft, blonde hair - on her _head_ and not caught up in Chuck's washing machine.

 _Thank God..._

The apocalypse really would have sucked without Cas.

"And I you," she returned. She was stiff as all hell and he was probably popping her human-touch cherry. Her chin jutted into his shoulder. Dean didn't care. He laughed for no goddamn reason at all. "And you, too, Sam," she added politely.

"You really saved our asses." Sam offered a squeeze to her shoulder.

When had Dean started thinking of Cas as a her, anyway? Who cared. That had to happen eventually. He was only human. Gender non-conformity was a no-go for his tiny primate brain. He'd rather change pronouns than be constantly reminded that he, his brother, and Claire were all walking, talking meat suits.

Huh. He still remembered what a pronoun was. Go Mrs. J from English 111-

"OW! What the hell, Cas!" Dean jumped back at the suddenly electric shock. There was a soreness after. Sam groaned beside him. Somehow, Cas' slender hands had climbed up both their stomachs.

"Forgive me, but this is sensible. You both need to be careful from now on."

"What did you...?!" Sam grimaced at her from under his mop of hair.

"I carved Enochian into your ribs. It will keep you hidden, even from me. Which will prove to be problematic... I will need a cellular device." Castiel shrugged in that _I haven't seen Earth since Jesus walked on water_ way _._

"Thanks, Cas." Dean rubbed his chest. "Remind me to never have another heart-to-heart with you again. Next time you come back from the dead, we're high fiving."

Her lips curled. "I would _hope_ that the dying," she gave it air quotes, "never happens again. It was quite... uncomfortable."

"Chuck said it'd be peaceful. Knew he was a lyin' son of a bitch."

"Speaking of death..." Sam started, glancing over at where Zachariah laid limp. "Cas. How are you alive? What did you mean... back there?"

"I..." Castiel opened her mouth but closed it again. "I was bluffing. I really don't know."

"What about..." Dean couldn't say her name. He couldn't force it off his tongue.

"Claire Novak is no longer with me. This vessel is... empty. And it is not as it originally was. It was remade from the cellular level, and very recently. I believe you would say it fits like a... forgive me, I forget the idiom."

"Glove," finished Sam.

"Dean, are you aware that you're missing a rib? That is suspect."

"Did you take a souvenir while you were in there redecorating?" He glared.

"No," Cas answered as if she'd been accused of eating the last donut. She stared down his stomach. "It's your Adam's rib."

"My what now?" Dean pressed.

"The same rib God pulled from Adam to create Eve. You could have read the first chapter, Dean."

"What is this, school? I skimmed it. I saw that kinky picture of them with the poison ivy over the junk. I didn't expect there to be a test at the end-"

"Guys?" Sam interrupted. "We gotta go get Bobby."

"Agreed." Castiel took them by the shoulders and, with a gust of wind, they were shot forward. It kind of felt like that carnival ride, the one where you got stuck to the wall.

"Paging Dr. Lizarro to the E.R." A nurse in purple scrubs rushed by.

* * *

Bobby was paralyzed and pissed. And he blamed them. And he hated that Cas couldn't just fix him with angel mojo because the healing thing wasn't her gig. She'd put her hands on him and carved into his ribs and he'd punched her and that'd broken a pinky. He could have spit nails at them - and now, now he wasn't talking, at all.

So.

Sam stayed behind to sit with him and try to sort through it.

Dean distracted himself with a burner. He leaned half out of the Impala, showing Cas the screen. Eventually, he'd drive around and find Bobby his favorite meal: fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. Even if he didn't eat it, at least he'd have it.

"These are your contacts. I put Bobby - when he, you know - and there's me. Sam. Jo, Ellen, and Ash are good friends. If you can't reach us, that's their bar. If you want to put in a new number-"

"I think I can manage." Her palm folded over his before she took the phone. When he looked up, Cas was _almost_ smiling. "I'm not totally helpless."

"No, you learned how to work the wheel just fine."

"Is this similar?" She flipped it up in the air.

"Hey, careful with that. It's fragile. You break it, you bought it..." Dean quietly scratched at the back of his head. "You were pretty badass today."

The almost-smile became a real smile, one brow raised at him. "That's a compliment."

"Yeah, Cas. You came in and ganked them all. Rambo-style."

"I see." She didn't. "Thank you."

"What are you gonna do now?"

"I have no orders... My garrison won't speak to me. I'm wanted for high treason and murder." She rolled a piece of gravel under her heel. "I may visit a temple in Venezuela. There's a shaman there who could have something useful. He'd like to know about all of this, in any case."

Dean tapped the top shell of the phone. "Will you let me know when you get back?"

"You don't hate me."

"What? No, Cas, I don't-... We all make mistakes. Alright, admittedly, you made some pretty damn big ones." Hadn't he already had this conversation earlier with Sam? "But right now, I'm," he coughed into his fist, "I'm pretty damn grateful you're here. I forgive you. We're good."

"We're _good_... I like that phrase."

Cas offered a hand and they shook on it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Free to Be You and Me**

 **Three Months Later**

* * *

He was somewhere between Clearwater and Humheller when he got the call. Keeping one hand on the wheel, Dean dug into his back pocket, then grunted. "Ye-?"

"I... hello, Dean," Cas answered from the other end.

"Hey, Cas. I'm in Maine. Uh, last sign I passed was Exit 3 to Topeka." Aaand there was that pressure. Like he'd been standing too close to a jet engine. Whenever Cas lifted her wings, or whatever they were, all the air in the tri-state area got sucked up and then - boom. The Impala rocked and she was beside him. Thank God he'd gotten used to that.

He closed the phone and threw it up on the dashboard.

Cas didn't say anything at first. Instead, she looked around, got all fidgety. And weird. She wasn't used to having shotgun privileges.

"You can ask."

"I wasn't going to." Her eyes slid over to him. "I assumed it would make you uncomfortable."

"You always make me uncomfortable, Cas." Dean grinned.

She furrowed her brows and looked hurt - actually hurt - for a second there. If Cas could even feel that kind of pain. "I'm kidding," he offered. His hand found her wild mass of hair and comfortingly petted it down her neck. Honestly, he couldn't help but feel glad that she'd showed up. The silence had been stretching on and on and on, his thoughts on repeat about Sam and the devil and...

They both turned to face the road.

"...That's never my intention. But there are greater concerns than my inability to be human enough for you."

Dean lifted his thumbs from the wheel. "Such as...?"

"The demon you and your fellow hunters encountered. It wasn't War." She watched a barn sink into the distance. "But you were very close. He was a minion of War's. Ancient - by your standards."

"Uh huh."

"I do believe I've located War himself. Though he won't rear his head for a while."

"That's good news!"

"If you wish to see it that way."

"So where is he?"

"Currently? The northern half of Korea."

" _Huh_." That... made sense. It hadn't occurred to Dean to think of places that made sense. "Not the Middle East?"

Cas gave a shrug. "Something with nuclear physics."

"Oh. That's, uh, that's bad news then. Real bad."

"Yes."

"...so how long do we have until...?" Dean made a childish noise with his mouth. _Kaboom_.

Cas just shrugged. "I assume he'll come here in your next presidential election."

"Great." He rolled his eyes. "Because those are always so fun to keep track of." Note to self: make Sam watch the debates - he actually liked that kind of crap. "At least that means we've got a while... So... Hey. Before you fly off - and since we've got a while, and since I'm kind of rusty on the whole flying-solo thing..." Why did he suddenly feel like a teenager asking a girl out? "I'm working a case. You could be the Thelma to my Louise. If you want."

It was Cas' turn to stare. "I don't understand. I've never met them."

"It's a story, Cas. About these two broads, best friends, and they fight anything and everything that comes after them - as a team. And then, at the end, when they're pushed as far as they can go, they jump off a cliff holding hands. They'd rather die _together_ than- you know, it's not all that deep. I'm just asking-"

"If I'd like to come with you."

"Yeah!" he answered gratefully.

She didn't have to mull it over long. "I would... I'll be your Thelma."

"Whatever that means, right?" Dean glanced up into the rearview and caught her smiling.

"Whatever that means." There was a silence that stretched on - comfortably, Dean thought - before she said, "It'd be faster if you'd let me take us."

"Uh uh. Last time you zapped me someplace I didn't poop for a week. We're driving."

* * *

 **Six hours later**

 **Shelville, Wyoming**

 **Population: 5,000**

* * *

"I don't understand."

"What?" Dean straightened his tie using the Impala's side view mirror. It'd taken him a while to get used to the monkey suit, but now it felt like the best weapon he had. To think that he and Dad had never tried it when a cheap badge opened every door in every Podunk town in America. Sammy had always been the smart one... His fingers carefully combed his hair back.

Cas stood behind him, no more threads out of place than usual. "Your plan. We ought to tell them that there is a dangerous evil afoot and that we need their assistance to slay it. It would make them more forthcoming."

"Except," Dean checked his box of wallets until he found the right one and stuffed it into his pocket, "this isn't the 1500s, Cas. Everyday humans don't _do_ the supernatural anymore. It's all fiction to them. And the world is better off for it. So we lie."

The angel eyed the Taft Memorial Hospital warily. It was squat and old and it sat oddly between a hardware store and a Lion's Club. "You're referring to the paranoia?"

"Sure. You're a witch, no, you're a witch - and then a hundred women end up crispy."

"The discretion of hunters is a practical solution." Cas nodded to herself.

"Practical." Dean snorted. "I don't think anyone's ever called it that before." Before heading in, he checked over her collar and inspected her sleeves.

Inside, there was a tired, graying nurse, leaning over a clipboard and scribbling furiously at it. An overweight secretary stared at her screen and tapped the arms of her chair. Otherwise, the place was perfectly still, save for a news report. Another erupting Volcano. Dean couldn't help but think _perfect_ as he strolled up to the front desk, already wearing a lady-loving smile. "Morning, girls. I'm agent Johnson," he flashed his badge faster than they could read it, "And this is my trainee, Cas. We got a call about a bear attack in a town with no bears?"

"YeeeAH! It happened right by my house!" the secretary answered him. She had clearly gone over all of this before and she clearly had a theory, one that she wasn't shy about. Her voice was accusatory - as if the police really should have done something by now. The 'evil afoot' was all Dean's fault. The nurse shot her an annoyed look. "My neighbor - Englewood - he's got these damn nasty dogs. Bark all day and night. Ravenous! I'm surprised Boe ain't got the rabies. That man should be foamin' at the mouth by now."

Nurse Jay sighed. "From what we can tell, the wound's too big for a dog bite. Yes, even a Rottweiler."

"They can bite ya twice. In different places. And there's more than one dog!"

"I'm sure they'll consider your idea, Shanice."

"Sure will," Dean confirmed. Cross his heart, hope to die. "We'll be up there before tomorrow mornin'."

The nurse lifted a gloved hand and waved. "Come on. Follow me. I'll take you to Mr. Boe Owens."

The room was only a short walk down a hallway. An older man laid in one of those powder blue beds, a heavy flannel blanket at his feet. A bandage the size of Dean's hand was over his neck. Hooked up to a morphine drip, he was out like a doped up light.

"Just for our independent investigation..." Dean twirled a pen he procured from his pocket. "Who and where?"

"Mr. Boe Davis," the nurse said slowly, glancing behind her at him. Sun spots. Whiskery gray beard. Missing a right-hand pinky finger. Not exactly grade-A beef. "He's our fix-it guy. Lives up on the ridge. He was on a fishing trip - he likes to fish, you know, every weekend." She crossed her arms over her chest. "He wandered up to our park ranger with this gash. Gushing blood like you wouldn't believe. Said something attacked him out there. He's lucky whatever it was didn't hit a major artery."

"Could we see the-" Dean pointed to the bandage.

"Sure, sure. We took pictures and everything, too. Great idea that turned out to be. The front page of the _National Enquirer_." Her fingers went to pull at the tape. At the last second, she glanced over her shoulder at Cas. "She might not wanna look. I had a pretty weak stomach at that age."

Cas gave her a kind look. Her voice was far too old for the body she was in. "I think you'll find I have a very strong stomach."

"Alright... don't say I didn't warn you."

She pulled it back and it looked like a small shark had tried nibbling on the guy and just missed.

"Vampires," Cas leaned over and whispered to Dean.

He laughed at the nurse's expression and rubbed Cas' shoulder. "Isn't she cute? She's the Mulder to my Scully. We like to joke around!"

"Dean-"

"Cas," he scolded, then began to explain, "It's not good form to say those kinds of things in front of a victim. Remember your bedside manner."

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her skirt. "My apologies. I did not mean to be rude to the unconscious man. I do hope that, in time, he will find it in his heart to forgive me."

He dropped the act. "Smartass."

"...Is that a compliment?"

"No."

Cas turned her head boredly. "Alright."

"Could we have a second?" Dean asked the nurse, making to look all business until she nodded and disappeared. "Vampire. Are you sure?"

Cas' heels clicked against the tile as she walked over to the bed. She peeled off the bandage completely and tossed it to the side. "Mostly. I think it must be very weak to not land its mark."

"And away from its pack like this?" Dean walked around to the other side.

She shrugged a shoulder. "Is it not customary for their kind to drain an exile before setting them free?"

"You're not wrong, Cas. You're not wrong."

* * *

 **Parson's River**

 **11:32 P.M.**

 **Population: 5 living, 1 dead, 1 being of celestial intent**

* * *

Dean's ass was frozen to the log. He checked the time on his phone. _God, would it kill the vamp to hurry up and come home? Oh. Right. It would._ The hunter shivered and pulled his coat tighter. He sent a glare up at the angel, standing beside him in nothing but a schoolgirl outfit. She learned to one hip as if it were any cool night in the summer.

"I know you're not the healing kind of angel, but how about a little heat, Cas?"

She blinked and lit up the campfire in front of them.

"Not like that!" Dean snapped. "He'll see us, stupid! Put it out!"

Cas ignored him and came to sit beside him instead. "You don't think he'll come to investigate?"

...Maybe. They looked enough like two troublemakers. Cas could pose as a scream queen like nobody else, all long blonde hair, soft cheeks, and sex appeal. From a distance, she looked like a wild child, out for a little Friday night rebellion. The type who thought they knew everything and then BAM - teeth in the neck. And Dean, well... he wasn't old enough to look out of place with her yet. From a distance. He wasn't fat and gray yet.

They'd stopped in a clearing. It was obviously the vamp's nest. No one else in their right mind would sleep out in the snow. He had a tattered, blood red tent set up with a mat inside. A duffle bag with odds and ends and occult bobbles galore.

In the horror story playing in Dean's head, Chad had convinced Stacy to screw around with the homeless guy's crap. _Come on, it'll be fun! Let's have sex on his bed before he gets back._

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a dead ringer for Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"

"What do you think?"

"You have _got_ to start watching TV. Talking to you is like talking to sheetrock." That was far from the truth; Cas was the only one Dean liked these days. But he was cold and tired and a little bit hangry. "You're prime meat, but I bet angels don't even make decent bait. You probably smell like crosses and holy water. Bet he picked up on your rankness hours ago and split."

She sighed. "Patience is a virtue, Dean."

"My ass is a virtue. And by the time this is over, it'll be preserved in ice."

"All the better. We'll stow it away as a memento of our time together."

Dean mimicked her, making her sound stupid. "-memento of our time together!"

"Quiet." Cas put her hand out to him and stood. "Did you hear that?"

He held his breath and listened. There was a rustling in the trees behind him that made his heart quicken. His hand slid into his jacket for a knife. "I don't hear nothin', baby," he said a little too loudly, sparing a glance over his shoulder and another one up at Cas. "That's what you get for watching all those scary movies. You know there's nothing to be afraid of with me here. I'll kick that guy's ass! Why don't you sit back down next to me?"

Cas gave him a look that rivaled Sam's bitch face. Completely, utterly unimpressed. Nonplussed, even. He grinned, and then Cas moved and spoke in a way that could only be described as "bad high school Shakespeare".

"What if it is the vagrant? Returning to his hovel! We should not have lingered here so! It is most dangerous."

Dean put his head in his hands and tried not to laugh.

It worked well enough. The stray vamp jumped out - looking like a hick and wearing an orange vest, blue jeans, and boots - hoping to catch them by surprise. Instead, he was caught by Cas. She held him by his shoulders and he snapped his teeth at her, just out of reach - once, twice, three times before he realized it wasn't working - and why wasn't it working? She was just a girl. Dean sunk a blood-covered knife into his back - "Eat it, Twilight!" - and that was that.

Damn efficient.

In a better mood now with adrenaline pumping through him, Dean congratulated them while stepping over the vamp's body. "Now that's what I call teamwork. You gotta let me catch 'em sometimes, alright? I don't wanna get all flabby."

"How was my improvisation?"

"You really have to ask? Horrible, Cas."

"Perhaps more TV," she gave it quotes, " _Is_ in order."

"Nah. Forget what I said before. Wouldn't change a thing." He fought to not give her hair another ruffle. "Hey, you wanna go grab a couple of beers? It was your first hunt - human style. We should celebrate."

"I-" She looked off, distracted suddenly. He knew the look. Trouble on angel radio. Dean busied himself with unsheathing his favorite knife from fleshy-parts unknown. "I have to check on something. I'll meet up with you... if I can."

When he turned to answer - maybe set a better time - there was nobody around but him and a twice-baked corpse.

* * *

"One hour to last call, folks!"

Dean's heavy-lidded eyes scanned the bar. It was mostly empty. Perfect for what he was after. Neon buzzed at him. Billiard balls smacked against the green velvet of a pool table. His empty glass rolled away from him and he groaned.

He hadn't been this drunk since before hell. And it'd taken the whole cocktail menu to do it then - yeah, Dean ordered cocktails, when there was no one around to say anything. Just because he liked the taste of them, it - it didn't make him any less of a man.

Chicks dug it. Liked that he knew all the names...

Sammy always had his jokes. He could hear the kid now, bitching from somewhere in the back of his mind. _Can you even get drunk anymore? Isn't whiskey like water to you now?_ Ha ha... ha.

They'd planned this hunt together, he and Sam. It was a shame he didn't get to come along because, because Sam _loved_ vampires. They were his favorite.

Okay. Not true, but-

He'd gone so many years missing his brother. Wishing that things had turned out differently. And he finally... he finally got him back, and now... Now he was all alone again. And that was about the only thing that Dean couldn't stand. Shoot him, stab him, rake him across the coals, but don't make him be _alone_.

...Nope! He needed more vodka!

Dean raised his finger for a refill when a slender, sweet thing slid onto the stool next to him. He turned his head with a trained, automatic smile. Blonde. Tits. He sucked in a breath.

Cas.

"Oh. Hey! You made it!"

"I made it," she answered, her expression - her eyes - soft. So soft. Dean got the feeling that she was remembering something. Like her own drunken early 30s, which would have been, what... when the Egyptian were carving out giant cat faces? What came before the Egyptians?

Ape people. When they all had fur.

She was thinking about him as a furry neanderthal. That was downright offensive. And not too far off. Dean scratched his stubbly chin.

"You want one?" He offered her a drink. "They're good. And kinda required if you're gonna stay."

"I wouldn't say no to one. It's been quite a while since I've... with a human, in a place like this."

"No shit. I was just... I was just thinking that. When-?"

Cas' face strained, the angel struggling to think back. "His name was Mark. A disciple." She elaborated as if he couldn't possibly have guessed, "There was a tavern in Galilee. I frequented there often. They had the sweetest wines. There was better around, but we were hard-pressed to purchase Roman goods in those days."

"Mark," Dean pressed. His brows lifted. "Mark?" When Cas gave a shrug, he huffed. "You're as old as the freakin' dirt, man."

"Most of it, yes."

Dean glared but found Cas smiling at him - no, smirking. Cas never smiled. She just turned up one corner of her lips.

"Well, this is no Galilee. Probably isn't even the best the midwest can offer."

"You never saw Galilee," Cas muttered.

"Maybe you could take me some time. Never been overseas. Ha- you know I'm scared shitless of planes? And now my best-" He almost called Cas his best friend. "Partner... 's got wings."

"You don't particularly like those, either."

"No, ma'am, I do not."

"But if that's something that you'd enjoy... I suppose..."

"Huh?"

"Galilee."

"What's up, Cas?" Dean grunted, turning in his seat now toward her. "Something on the radar?"

"No one's given me a _radar_ , but... no," she answered carefully. "All's been quiet."

"Then why are you-?"

The bartender came and left a pair of drinks for them. His was bubblegum pink, hers was a Windex shade of blue. And no ID check for the little lady, thank God for people who minded their own business. Cas' slender hand wrapped around the stem of the glass and Dean marveled at how her manicure had stayed so perfectly preserved. What happened if your nails were janked before an angel took over, anyway-?

The angel took a sip, then coughed and sputtered angrily. "You people," she said, her nose all shriveled up, "Have bastardized the drink."

Dean laughed hard. His lungs hurt, his chest hurt - the good kind of pain. Still shaking, he swapped their glasses. "Along with a whole lot of other things."

"Why must everything be so sweet? How can you taste any flavor at all? Your tongue is not capable of-" And she was sticking her tongue out now - just barely - and grimacing.

"Sugar's addictive as all hell. Wait until you try pie." Slowly, his smile faded. His laugh died. "Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever have a favorite brother? Up there? Out of all of 'em."

"...yes."

"...Do you ever miss him?"

"Ever? Of course. More than he'd ever know."

 _Blue jean baby, L.A. lady..._

It took a second for Dean's fogged mind to recognize the melody. The bartender had been fiddling with the radio all night and now, finally, _something_ crackled out from its speakers. A quick press of piano keys, that old winding sound... All slow rock sounded the same, but this one - this one was different. This one always played on a long, winding road late at night.

He'd never admit to liking a cocktail, let alone an Elton John song.

 _And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand..._ Was he tapping along?

Screw it.

Dean hauled himself up from the stool. Cas turned her head when he put a hand to her - her arm, her back, her neck. He was all octopus-limbed suddenly and needy. Women had always given him comfort on crappy nights, like this one. They always knew just what he needed. And he didn't mean to put Cas in the same category, but _God_... He could think of nothing he wanted more. "You ever dance, Cas?"

"I-" She was cut off by the crushing hug he gave her. His face was buried in her neck.

After a while, she got with the program. Realized that he just wanted to stand there and sway. Feel her heat. Not be so alone. She slipped silently off the stool and slid a hand between his shoulders. The other latched onto his arm, over the mark she'd left behind the first time. He'd never felt so warm before.

 _Hold me closer, tiny dancer..._

 _Count the headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen._

God, he missed Sam. It'd only been a month, but it wasn't that kind of face-to-face, hear-your-voice missing. They'd not been a family for years. Dean was homesick, even with all the shit they'd gone through, even if it was never the best - he was more homesick than he'd ever been. It welled up in his throat.

 _You had a busy day today..._

 _Hold me closer, tiny dancer._

It wasn't until he stumbling back that he realized the music had stopped and everything had gone dark. Where was he-? Oh. Right. His motel room. He fought to sit up from the bed but Cas pushed him back down. "Cas-"

Without a word, she pulled off his boots. She pulled the messy blanket over him. Dean's eyes went all with the _sleep now_ , but he didn't want to close them when - when this was the only time he could remember being tucked in by someone... His resolve crumbled with the sweet embrace of a soft mattress and the mobile-like swinging of her hair. The last thing he could remember was hearing the soft _clink_ of a glass of water being placed on the nightstand.

Women. Always knew what he needed.

Gotta love 'em.

"Goodnight, Dean."

With the hunter snoring safe and sound, she left room 22D. The motel's vacancy sign flickered. It's red 'V' flickered out.

 _Ballerina, you must have seen her, dancing in the sand._

* * *

 **AN: Updates may be a bit slower than usual from now on. Work's been picking up a lot lately. I'm also not totally sure where I'm going from here - so I have some planning ahead. Please review and let me know what you think of the direction I'm heading in! Thanks for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Kissimmee, Florida**

 **The Snow Crab**

 **Last Call**

* * *

 _In a gadda da vida, honey. Don't you know that I'm lovin' you?_

Sam wiped the bar with an old shirt rag. He scooped up the lime skins from the last order and chucked them in the garbage, then reclaimed a lipstick covered shot glass and turned it over in the wash pile. He'd never been very good at bartending. Dean was killer at it, but him? Always made a mess. Made things too sour, too bitter. Left things dirty for too long. And he hated all the talking... But he was grateful for the fast, easy money and grateful to be doing something with his hands.

 _In a gadda da vida, baby._

After getting into Stanford, he'd thought... that didn't matter now.

"We can confirm that Hurricane Sandra will sustain winds of at least two hundred miles per hour," the overhead tv buzzed, "I don't think any of us can comprehend how destructive that is. This is far worse than anything that a category five is capable of. Citizens _must_ evacuate; there is no staying for this one-"

All that mattered now was that he didn't screw up again.

"How are those chips coming?" A bearded trucker tipped his hat up at him.

"They're coming. Chef had to heat up some fresh queso for you."

 _Oh, won't you come with me..._

Sam wiped his rag down to the opposite end of the bar. From under his too long hair, he noticed a fresh-faced blonde taking a seat in front of him. "Gonna need to see some ID."

"I don't have any of that."

He looked up finally. "...oh. Oh, crap. Hey, Cas! How the hell are you? ...Wait, is everything okay?"

"Your brother asked me that, too. Does something have to be wrong for me to want to speak with one of you?"

"No." He blinked. "No. Of course not. It's just... you don't usually make the rounds unless..."

Cas waved a dainty hand. Clearly, he felt as useless as Sam was feeling. "I have no news to give."

"Yeah, well. That's probably a good thing for once." As terrified as he was of screwing-up-again, he was desperate to know about their progress. Just one, small- no. Cas couldn't tell him anything. Shouldn't tell him anything! It'd make him want to DO something, more than he already did with CNN in his ear every day droning on and on about the latest horrible thing he definitely caused.

"I'll have a beer."

"Uh..." Sam craned his neck, scoping out the place. "I don't think I can serve you. Do you even have money for one-?"

"Sam. Don't you think you owe me?"

"Sorry. You're right. I totally do. I owe you a couple by now." He pushed his hair back, looked around at all his supplies, and debated. A beer? He was so clearly sixteen in that body. "This one is uh, for bringing Dean back. We'll work from there."

"You'll owe me indefinitely then," he said, a little too happy at the prospect. "A good thing. I have no idea how your currency works."

Sam filled a glass half with vodka, half with soda. "That I can help with. Try this on for size."

He took a sip. Placed it down. "I hate it."

Sam folded his arms as he leaned over the counter. "I kinda need to keep this job."

"I'm aware. How are things, Sam?"

He stopped and considered what was being asked. He kind of liked knowing that Cas didn't care to know how his day was, his week, or even his month. He didn't want to know where he was staying, if he was eating enough, or if he had a girl he liked. It was to the point: are you drinking demon blood, yes or no? Are you struggling with it? Yes or no.

No, to the first question. And... yes, to the second.

Somehow, answering to the semi-impartial angel didn't feel as scary as answering to Dean.

"Things are... okay."

"You've been protecting yourself?"

"Salt taped to the windows and traps everywhere I can put 'em. I won't be getting my security deposit back, that's for sure. I've got a couple of hex bags, too. But I don't think they've found me yet."

"You may want to consider moving in another month."

Sam hummed.

He really didn't like that idea.

"I have a book for you." Cas picked it up from the stool to his right and slammed it up on the counter. Some great, giant, dusty tome that looked like the Necronomicon only worse. Sam was quick to slide it over to where no one could see it.

"Thanks, Cas," he said with an exasperated sigh as if he'd been given a mouse in his shoe.

"It's white magic. Perfectly safe. It was used by the Byzantines, your earliest Christians. I think it'll prove to be a useful tool in keeping you safe."

"Sounds great," he said a little more earnestly.

"One more thing..." Cas struggled to find the words. "I... do think you should speak to your brother."

Something crashed in Sam's gut at that. The angel had said early that nothing was wrong, but... Sam furrowed his brows and glared down at his feet. He should have called. He knew he should have. He did care about his brother, it just... when he was a civilian, it was kind of easy to not exist for a while. He wanted to not exist.

"...how was the Owens case?" he asked.

"Uneventful. I'm a terrible liar, as it turns out. But I think he misses you."

"Yeah?"

Cas tipped his head to the side, and Sam could tell that he was all but biting his tongue. "It is not my place."

"Cas, you're not a soldier anymore. You're a friend. You're allowed to have opinions. We might not like them all the time or agree with them, but Dean and I aren't your superiors. We just have to take it. I mean, if your friends can't call you out, who can?"

"...I appreciate that."

"So...?"

"I won't pretend to understand the intricacies of your human relationships. But he is weaker without you. And his coping methods are," he stared off and shrugged, "Beyond me."

"We're trying to avoid catastrophe here, Cas. In the shape I'm in, I don't know what else we can- Wait, what do you mean by-... is he drunk? Because that's just Monday night for Dean. And Tuesday. And Wednesday."

"And Thursday, yes. But he seemed to want to-" Cas moved his arms as if Dean had been using his big, fat arms to catch a butterfly. "I don't know if that's something you two do together."

"I'm gonna say... no."

"Use your mobile phone to contact him. I've learned that it does support longer conversation if you have unlimited," he gave it air quotes, "And you can comfort him better than I can."

He couldn't argue with that. "I'll give it a shot."

Cas nodded and seemed satisfied with him until he shot Sam a cautious look. "You don't need...?" Again with the arms.

"No, definitely not. I'll keep you posted, though."

"Good." He shivered as if the possibility had been sobering. "I don't think I can handle another Winchester's emotional outburst tonight."

"Order up!"

Sam glanced back at the plate waiting for him, filled to the brim with molten hot cheese and nacho chips - and then Cas was gone.

Huh.

He never overstayed his welcome.

* * *

 **Hailey, Idaho**

 **Lake View Inn, Room 141**

He and Cas had worked five cases since that "vagrant" vampire in Wyoming. They'd gone through them at a breakneck speed; even for him, it was a personal best. Ghost, wendigo, rawhead, and then there'd been that water spirit - hoo, what a looker. They were like a well-oiled machine. He did all the talking and she did all the stabbing... unless he asked to do the stabbing. Because he liked to do the stabbing.

Cas burned through cases faster than Dean could drive to them (and she was convinced that he only drove to annoy her.)

Dean dragged his jacket over to the motel sink and dabbed at it uselessly. They'd followed one of Pestilence's minions to a factory in Idaho. The tough son of a bitch had tried to sneak a virus into a batch of chicken eggs and Dean had gotten seriously gooped.

Damn. _I really liked this one, too_ , he thought. Everything had dried overnight and now it was straight donezo with a capital-

"Gah-!" Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. Cas was staring over his shoulder into the mirror, looking like something out of _The Ring_. "Don't _DO_ that!"

"Hello, Dean."

He put a hand to his still beating heart and willed it to slow the hell down. He'd gotten used to Cas showing up next to him in the car, but God-!

When he turned, she was only an inch from him... if that. And the only time a woman ever got that close to him was when she wanted something. Dean glanced down her body - and wasn't that just ten tons of f'd up? This was Cas - his best friend Cas - and he was pretty sure _Cas_ looked a lot less like a soft, pretty girl and more like the thing that'd tried to pop out of Sigourney Weaver.

"Dude... we talked about this." His licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "Personal space."

"My apologies." She stepped back. Dean put even more space between them as he took his jacket over to the bed.

"I was just thinking about you."

"I would have come sooner, but I didn't hear anything."

"Not that kind of thinking. I mean-" he held up the stain, "How is it that I'm always the one who has to clean up?"

She shrugged. Then she got this strained look on her face.

"Cas?" he asked. "Something on your mind or... you just gassy?"

"I have a case for us."

Dean groaned. "I was planning on some shore leave. We've been going pretty hard lately and I need at least six hours of sleep before the next one."

"This..." She twisted her fingers and Dean stared because Cas didn't usually act so human. "The date is immovable, but... you'll have time to rest before then."

"What is it?"

"A wedding."

"A wed- come again?"

"A wedding," Cas confirmed ominously. "The lamb will take his bride. It is a sign of the apocalypse in your texts. But for me it is a-" She brushed her hair away. "A complicated family matter. I need you to come with me."

Dean lifted his hand and his lips made a silent _what_. Then, deciding he'd rather not start there, he turned to the mini-fridge and fished out a beer. "I have a lot of questions."

"I understand."

"Who's getting married?"

"Joseph."

"-the one with the coat?"

"No," she shook her head, confused for a moment. "No. There were many changes made in the translations. Westerners know him as Jesus Christ, but he prefers Joe."

"Jesus Christ? You're inviting me to the wedding of Jesus Christ?"

She looked uncomfortable at the thought of it too but for an entirely different reason. "Yes."

"Jesus Christ has a girlfriend?"

"A lover," Cas supplied, nodding in agreeance over the word. "Our father did not approve. His exact words were 'you may wed when hell freezes over.' It... is in the process of freezing. They're very excited, from what I understand."

"I can't believe this." Dean slid a hand down his face. "And you actually think it'd be a good idea to - to not only go to Jesus' wedding while being heaven's most wanted - but to take ME, heaven's _second_ most wanted... as a date."

"There will be no angels there. None that are in good standing with heaven, in any case. Most believe that it'd be a slight against our Father to go and refuse to participate. The venue will be at a Marriott."

"A Marriott? I'm pretty sure the Pope could give him a discount for Saint Paul's Cathedral."

"He's a bohemian of simple tastes. The last I spoke with him, he wanted it to be on a boat but every boat was too big, or too modern, or too expensive for his liking." She sighed in that _he's family_ way. "After two thousand years, they only want for their wait to be over. They much don't care where it happens now or how, only that it does happen, and soon."

"Well... Isn't that romantic?"

Apparently not to Cas. "I'll be needing new attire. I was told this would not be appropriate." She gestured to herself and Dean found himself _looking_ again. Guh.

"So am I your stylist now?"

"Do you really want to see what probable atrocity I'd pick on my own?"

"...Yes. As a matter of fact, I do."

"A dress, please."

"Should I pick up blender while I'm at it?"

"No, they won't be needing a blender..." She glanced to the side. "That I know of..."

"A gift, Cas. We humans give gifts at weddings." His phone rang: Sam. Dean didn't hesitate to pick it up, only sparing Cas a passing glance. She understood and - per Dean's request that she knock off the disappearing crap - made for the door. "Hey, Sammy. You'll never guess what I just got invited to. No, really. Guess!"

* * *

A week, Dean found himself holding Cas by the elbow in the lobby of a three-star hotel. "You got it?" he asked, not daring to let go again. The angel - oh, so beautiful and graceful - had tripped twice now on her heels. "Come on, man. They're only an inch higher than you usually wear."

"And have far less structural integrity," she snapped back, hiking her pink dress up her leg. A spaghetti strap fell off her pale shoulder and loose strands wavy blonde hair crowded her face. Dean had pulled most of it up into a knot at the back of her head with a rubber band.

He pulled them over to a big white sign that read _Nazareth Wedding: Ballroom B_. An arrow pointed them to where they needed to go.

"They're not expecting _me_ to look like the Queen of Sheba."

"I told you - this is casual."

"A lack of accessories does not make it any more functional."

"I knew you wanted a pantsuit."

The hallway ended with two giant-sized doors. They opened up to a party; there were chandeliers, white-linen tables, flowers - the whole nine yards. Surprisingly, no togas. Dean had half expected to know everyone on sight like in a church play but no one screamed disciple or wise man.

To an outsider, it all appeared... normal. _No second coming here, folks. Just two kids getting hitched._ Noticing the champagne to his left, Dean eagerly snatched a glass. Cas wasted no time stealing it from him.

"These aren't for you. If you so much as smell one then I'll be carrying you over my shoulder all evening."

"You're telling me angels have super wine?"

"How else would we celebrate?"

Cas explained to him who all was there. Peter, John, Ishmael, Yavatash - and oh, best to avoid Judas. All the while, she seemed to be looking for someone. She stretched and careened her head and peered around boxed shoulders. Then she grunted and cut her eyes.

"Mark," she growled, clearly irritated.

"Drinking buddy Mark?" Dean gave the guy a once over. "Should I be jealous? How many ex-boyfriends you got in this joint?"

Cas shot back her champagne. "I have something I need to take care of. I'll join you later to walk before the procession."

 _Yeah, just leave me here all alone with the fam. That's not awkward or anything._ Dean shoved his thumbs in pockets and made to look scarce. A tall order when he had Property of Michael stamped to his back. God, the things he did for... Cas.

A short, curly-haired figure brushed past him and he did a double-take. Nerdy brown suit. Orange, bleach-spotted tie. A Dr. Who watch- "Chuck?"

Chuck turned slowly. "...Dean? Holy crap."

"You're telling me."

"How did you-? Why?" He looked like he hadn't shaved in a couple days, but at least he'd showered. His shoulders hunched.

"Cas."

"Oh. Yeah." Chuck knitted his brows. "Makes sense."

"Friend of the groom?"

His eyes bulged and then he rocked back on his heels tiredly. "You could say that."

"Is it even okay for us to be here anymore? The last time you and Cas were in the same room together she turned into chunky soup."

"I wouldn't worry about Raphael. Eh... Everybody upstairs is still pretty shaken up about the whole back from the dead thing. He's not looking for a fight just yet." Chuck took a flute-glass and sipped it before Dean could stop him.

"Woah. Cas said that stuff was deadly."

"Huh?" He marveled at it, swirling the champagne. "Guess I must be immune."

"Shirley!" someone called out. Dean watched as a strong hand clasped to Chuck's shoulder. The owner of it shared a striking resemblance to the prophet, save for the man-bun and his towering height. He was almost as tall as Sam, just a whole lot lankier. "Thanks for coming. I wasn't sure if you were gonna make it or not-" Then he turned, wide-eyed. "And the writer brought his muse! Gotta say I'm a big, big fan of yours, Dean Winchester."

"Oh no. I'm not with him." Dean always found himself embarrassed when someone knew him from the books... and weirdly flattered. For one thing, yet another person knew all of his deepest, darkest secrets. But... they still kinda liked him. Which was... something.

The man shook a loose finger at him, realizing. "Castiel brought you, didn't he? Hey, I should really thank you both for giving those a-holes a run for their money last year. There's nothing I hate more than a freakin' bureaucrat trying to take, take, take from the little guy. It's always the same story, man."

"I'll pass it on," Dean promised while the prophet muttered something about sure, everything's the same if you don't account for the changes in the minor details - and then what's the point?

"Anyway, isn't that kinda - _harsh?"_ Chuck eyed him wearily. "They're your family."

"And where are they today? Water of the womb, my friend. I'm human."

"Family..." Dean repeating, eyeing Chuck until it finally dawned on him. Oh crap oh crap. "Jesus! We've been talking to Jesus this whole time and you didn't tell me?!"

"Joe," he corrected, grinning warmly and shaking Dean's hand. "Listen," he patted his shoulder, "Enjoy! Drink, eat! I've gotta go get back there before Mom starts - I don't know - bleeding from the eyes or something."

"M-mary?" Chuck stuttered.

"Yeah," Joe walked back into the exit. "Been on a rampage today!"

Dean waited until Jesus freakin' Christ was completely out of earshot before he snapped. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose and his voice cracked. "This is gonna be the longest day of my life."

* * *

Cas grabbed him before the precession - whatever _that_ was - just like she'd promised. He barely managed a "where have you-" before a pianist began to play softly in the other room. The crowd took it as a sign to bottle-neck it to their ivory seats. Cas all but lingered with him and then bullied him into the very last row, and Dean still couldn't tell if she was only being her usual weird self or if she was up to something.

At least he had leg room.

There was mood lighting, for sure. The new room was far more intimate than where they'd just been. Curtains hung on the wall in that decorative, tied-up fashion. Flowers made neat little shapes - and were those hydrangeas? Dean sniffed and looked away, pretending not to notice. Hydrangeas had been Mom's favorite flower. They'd had big, purple bushes of them back in Kansas. They'd still been just as big and purple as he remembered when he and Sam had visited the old house... when Dad had first gone missing.

"You know what they about whores in churches?" Dean complained, loosening his tie. It - the whole thing - was a bit much for him suddenly.

Cas pursed her lips. "We'll sweat together."

Everyone turned in their seats as the man of the hour (and the best men of the hour) walked up the aisle. Then the parents. Then the bride. She was pretty in white and lace and she was dark-skinned with all this sleek hair and - and she looked really freakin' happy...

Dean could only imagine what that kind of happiness felt like.

He'd only ever been to one wedding before - and Elvis had been there. And Cher. And the Jackson 5. He hadn't been convinced then that marriage was all that it was made out to be. Dad's memory of Mom had been a fantasy, a lie... Dean had loved women before, plenty of women, with his whole heart. But he'd always figured that he was better off alone in the end. Until... until _now_.

Now that he'd died and gone to hell and missed out on the one thing a man was supposed to do in life.

Now that Cas had drug him to a stupid-shotgun-Jesus-wedding. Had him thinking all existential.

Dean pressed a thumb to the corner of his eye to hide the tear that shed at their vows. Not _crying_... There was dust in his... damnit.

A flash of pink and Cas was quietly leaving out the back. Dean wasn't about to let her do that to him a second time.

"Cas," his whispered hoarsely, ducking out into the hall with her. "What the hell, man! What is going on with you today?"

But evidently, him following her was exactly what Cas had wanted. She waved a hand to urge him closer. The two of them ended up crouched outside of the room with all the presents, their ears pressed to the wall. Someone was in there alright, unwrapping everything and tossing boxes around.

"Where is it - who brought a bloody Kitchenaid?!"

Dean tried to form some sort of plan with her. _Go, I'll flank left, then we'll circle him._ But she just barged in, guns blazing, and oh, she knew him. Of course, she knew him. "Balthazar."

"Castiel," he answered, then he caught sight of Dean over her shoulder. "And Dean. I'd say it's lovely to see you both but that would be a lie, wouldn't it?"

"We need to talk," Cas said sternly.

"Oh, we need to talk like I need a knife to the heart," Balthazar hissed, stomping through the wreckage of brightly colored paper. "I have a business to run and a staff to find, so you'll excuse me-"

"It's to your left."

The other angel stared. His face went all red - Dean had no idea they could even do that! - and he spat. "Oh, you think I'm so predictable, don't you? Planting that there so I'd HAVE to talk to you-!"

"You wouldn't otherwise!"

"Excuse me!" Some poor hostess yelped behind them. "I'm- I'm sorry, but... You can't be in there!"

She hadn't stopped their arguing for even a second, so Dean took upon himself to step out and close the door behind them. "Look," he smiled, cranking up the charm. "You know how families are. It's my girlfriend and her brother - they _really_ need to have it out."

There was a bang as someone slammed against the wall.

"U-uh," the teen stuttered. "But - I s-saw the presents... _open?_ Are they okay?!"

Dean widened his eyes. "...What?"

They fought over the doorknob for a solid minute while he caught only bits and pieces of the real action. Balthazar had deserted in hell. Cas had hated him for that, but now she wanted - needed - his help. With what? Dean heard the name Raphael. Cas was being called crazy, suicidal.

There was a scream in the lobby. Dean stopped and whipped his head around while Stacy cowered beside him. Another scream - another - chaos breaking loose and people rushing past - did someone say Lucifer?

Dean wrenched the door open. Cas punched Balthazar in the jaw and the staff flew out of his hands. She caught it, but she wasn't expecting Dean to throw the normy in there with them.

"Cas, we've gotta go! _Now!"_

* * *

Dean forfeited his motel room and everything it. He did the one thing he knew how to do: drive - had been driving for hours - speeding the whole way and cutting red lights. He didn't plan on stopping anytime soon. They'd get as far as the highway and his half a tank of gas could take them and then maybe he'd consider a nap somewhere. Maybe. He was freaked out of his mind. His heart still thrummed in his chest.

Lucifer? In the literal flesh?

It'd been all too easy to talk about killing him, you know, when he wasn't five feet away. Dean had experienced enough of hell - the first time around - to know that he should have pissed himself back there.

He glanced over at Cas. She'd been silent since. The darkness of the road had swallowed them up, and he'd almost forgotten that was even there with him. The angel stared off at nothing, her brows knitted tightly. Somehow, he didn't think Lucifer was the one on her mind...

"Hey," he called out gently. "You okay?"

Instead of an answer (a simple 'yeah' would have sufficed), her lips just curled in confusion.

After a long while, she finally spoke. "...Dean, I feel I am, for the first time in my life... truly alone. My eternal confidant has - abandoned me? For forever, I fear. I don't know if I can be okay."

More silence. He didn't know what to say to that. Except he did.

"I get it, Cas." They exchanged looks. "I'm kinda of the expert now in thinking someone will go one way and have your back and then - then you've got a knife to the throat."

Her expression turned sad. "I'm sorry for all I did to contribute to that."

"Don't." He held up a hand. "I," Dean stressed the word, "Forgive you. Alright? I'm just saying... Family's hard."

"Family's hard," Cas echoed him as if something had been lost in the translation. "With the fate of our worlds in the balance, you would think _family_ would try to make it less hard."

"That's why you and me get along so well. We're practical. They're the ones with the problem. Honestly, ever since Sam split?" _I might regret saying this_. "I'm good. I'm _real_ good."

He should have felt worse than he did about putting that out into the universe, but all he felt was relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean-" Dean sucked in a breath. "I spent so much time worryin' about the son of a bitch. I feel like I'm on a vacation. I've had more fun with you in the last twenty-four hours than I've had in years, and you're not that much fun, Cas."

She tilted her head at him.

"You took me to a wedding where Satan was the surprise guest." And she didn't fight him on that, expecting the jab, but now that Dean had started spilling his guts he couldn't stop. It all kept pouring out of him like the most satisfying bile ever. "I've been so chained to my family, but now that I'm _alone_... I'm happy."

Sam was safe. That was the only goddamn thing that mattered to him anymore. No more demons or any of their poison. No more monsters they couldn't handle. No more being a vessel. His little brother packing it in made him feel like he'd gone from sixty to zero in point-five, earthquakes tearing apart the eastern hemisphere or not.

He felt like he could get this job done... with Cas.

He didn't want to lose Cas now.

To his relief, she agreed. "I think I could be okay and be alone. With you."

"Yeah, Cas. I think I could be okay and be alone with you, too."


	6. Chapter 6

A boot kicked in the door. _Bang_ \- a scuffle. "Bobby!" someone called out, all desperate like. Oh, balls. "What now?" the older man growled, struggling to unholster his gun and roll out into the living room. He only spun himself up against the desk. His copy of the _Other Beings:_ _A Discussion of_ _the Ethereal_ fell out his hands and wedged one of his wheels. _Damn_ _arthritis._ _Damn_ _busted legs!_

"Bobby!" Dean yelled again. He marched into the library and headed straight for the couch. He was carrying something, or someone, small and blonde and limp. Bobby only got a glimpse of her swinging hair.

 _Oh... balls..._ He stared with a worried frown as Dean set her down easy. _Let it not be Jo._

"I've got you," Dean whispered down onto her, crouching to prop her up against the pillows. There was a gurgle - almost like she was gonna hurl - and then blood everywhere. More blood than Bobby had ever seen before and that was sure sayin' something. She wasn't gonna make it. Not like that.

"What the hell happened?!" He got control of his chair again and pushed closer.

"Don't move," Dean whispered to her shakily, petting the top of her head with a wet hand. "Don't move. Where's the chalk, Bobby?" He moved out of the way and Bobby finally got a good look: Cas. It was the angel. The one Dean had been riding around with for the past few months while Sam played hooky. The same one who couldn't fix him because she hadn't gone to heaven's John Hopkins. Bobby felt a not-so-guilty relief wash over him then because it wasn't Jo or anyone they knew and this one could heal herself. Or so he'd thought.

"In the desk drawer," Bobby answered. Dean, having practically lived there with him since he was a teen, was already digging. He slowly returned his attention back to "girl" ruining his furniture. And his rug. His expression morphed into one of morbid curiosity. Her shirt was ripped open and her guts were all but hanging out. Where a steel-blue eye should have been, there was only an angry black hole. The other one looked at him wearily.

"Hello, Robert," she - it - rasped at him.

"I need myrrh..." Dean muttered to himself as he flipped open all the lids on Bobby's wiccan spice rack.

"You shoot your eye out?" he asked.

"It was an accident." She shifted. More blood. It looked like she was trying to lazily scoop it back in her. Why wasn't she healing up? They'd riddled Jimmy Novak with bullets before and the tough son of a bitch had just kept walking. She didn't look so tough now. "I believe the term is friendly fire."

"I said I was sorry!" Dean shouted. He hurriedly shook out a pack of matches. Bobby couldn't help but notice he had his wide copper summoning pot.

"What was it this time, boys?"

"Raphael," Dean huffed.

"He attacked you while you were at the _farm?_ I thought that was an arachnid."

"Yeah! It was a freakin' set up."

"An ambush," Cas agreed.

Bobby could have kicked himself. Well, if he still had workin' knees, he could have... He'd sent them after it and something had been off from the beginning. "I'm surprised you're still with us," he told Cas gruffly.

"As am I." She lost her strength then, head hitting the pillow. "That won't help," she snapped at Dean.

"What else am I supposed to do, Cas?" he yelled back. "Huh? You're hurt, and this is the best we got, so just shut up and deal."

"I can heal myself."

"I don't see any healing-"

"The damage... to my vessel... is extensive," she panted, out of breath, "and my grace... is waning... I will need-"

Dean grit his teeth. "What you need is a lobotomy. We don't have time for you to be a big, stubborn loner. Okay? I know that you're a badass, Cas, _everyone_ knows you're a badass!"

"Don't you dare insult my pride by suggesting that I am merely being prideful now!" She waved a hand dismissively. "Summon him. Let him enjoy the view. I'm sure he'll want to take photos."

"Will you both shut up?" Bobby growled. "I feel like I'm on _Married with Children_." He turned his head to Dean. "If you're gonna do it, then do it and let's get this over with." If his chair had come with a buckle and a belt, he would have strapped himself in. Dealing with Balthazar was never easy.

* * *

The doctors called it insomnia. Bobby knew better. It was only his good sense keeping him awake. A survival instinct he could only shut off after half a bottle of malt liquor. Not that he'd ever slept _well_ before, but... The past few years had been especially tough. With the "apocalypse" looming over their heads - and then the whole being possessed himself (and the consequences of that) - and Dean and Sam being apart... There was just a whole hell of a lot to be worried about.

Used to, he'd pace the hall between his bed and his bathroom. Now, he sat in his chair. He'd just park it in front of a window and watch his lot. So far, nothin'.

"You okay?" he heard Dean ask, but he wasn't asking him. He was asking her. The angel. In hushed tones because they thought he'd had fallen asleep.

"Fine," she answered.

Balthazar wasn't the healing kind of angel, either, but he'd been able to pop over to San Juan and get whatever Castiel had needed. Some kind of heavenly Pedialyte. And Castiel had been right; he was a mouthy bastard. She'd all but glared a hole into the other angel when he'd explained Lucifer's Curse and the cause of her "molting": too many human emotions and too much time away from a flock that now rejected her. Her grace was like a cellphone battery with a lost charger. Only a matter of time. Another thing for them to worry about.

Dean wrapped up her middle and now they were just waiting.

"That's looking better," Dean said.

She sighed in return. "Why you thought a small projectile would help the situation-"

"It was a distraction."

"For _who?_ "

"It works on our guys. It was muscle memory! You should have Matrixed it."

"My apologies. I was busy defending my life."

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"What Balthazar said… is that how it happens? Are you-?"

"I am not human, no. And I never will be."

"Anna ripped out her grace to fall and be with us, right? So... Why are you- sorry, Cas, but you're starting to suck."

"I could kill you now without moving from where I'm sat."

"Don't get all offended. I'm not here to fight with you. You know what I'm asking."

"I will never be human, Dean. I'm not Anna; I don't _want_ any of it. I'm not feeling anything of note - other than uncomfortable, at the moment, and mildly irritated."

"I don't want it either, honestly. Sam and I, we're stronger apart. Now we are, too. You… you've gotta go into hiding somewhere, man. Far, far away from… this. I appreciate the help, but - you're officially on the bench."

"You're being overdramatic."

" _I'm_ overdramatic?"

"Yes."

"Cas, if this is hurting you, then we can't. We just can't." Even if Castiel was the only real friend Dean had in… hell, since Bobby didn't know when. "If Raphael shows up again, it's lights out. The sequel. And newsflash, I actually kind of like you and would prefer for you to not be dead. It's time for you to get going, Old Yeller."

"I have," she hissed, struggling to sit up, "an idea. A stupid idea. But an idea."

Bobby chewed the inside of his cheek and listened.

Christ. They were going to try to catch a tornado in a butterfly net.

Idjits. The both of 'em.

* * *

 **One Week Later**

 **11:33 P.M.**

To Dean Winchester, seedy strip joints were about as easy to come by as any McDonalds, Wendys, or Burger King. They all had their thing: cool toys, paper hats, a jungle gym in the back. He'd turned thirteen and, well, tits and hot wings became the preferred "thing" of choice. Plus, clowns terrified Sam, so after a while Dad had to stop risking the Mcnuggets. Ronald was all the rage in the 80s.

As normal as they were to him, though, they were no place for a girl. Not even a being-of-celestial-intent posing as a girl. If he planned on showing Cas a good time - and he did - then a much classier, far more expensive Gentlemen's Club was the way to go. Cas was already falling, they were already screwed, why not keep the sin-train going? For the night. If they made it out, well, she could go back to minding her p's and q's and they could hope for the best.

"The Playhouse" had a sign with big, bold cursive lettering. The curtains were gold and inside there was a blue tint to the room. Dean looked around. Plenty of clean, sleek upholstery. The guys were all dressed in suits and barely glanced their way. There was no all-you-can-eat buffet, only a menu that came in a soft binder. His thumbs hooked in his pockets. _Good, good..._

"It's a harem."

Dean looked over his shoulder at the angel. He'd covered her in a jacket and a baseball cap, making a box shape out of that slightly curvy one.

"Yeah, Cas. Starting to make sense now?"

"Starting to, yes."

A waitress led them to a dark corner - far, far away from prying eyes. There were two armchairs and a couch. A large but squat table rested between them. They could barely see the stage, but... sacrifices had to be made. Then the girl listed off a couple of fruity cocktails and Dean's mouth watered: Pinky and the Jets, Mint Tom Collins, Raspberry Racer. Being with Cas always made him giddy, for lack of a better word; he knew he could order whatever the hell he wanted and she wouldn't say dick about it. What did she even know about human standards of masculinity, anyway? Nothing. That was the beauty of it all. "I'll take that last one and she'll have, uh, the best whiskey you've got. Thank you, sweetheart."

At Cas' raised brow, he explained. "It was the least bastardized thing I could think of. Unless you want to be drinking straight vodka, but I figure all those little glasses would get on your nerves. Guess there's wine, too."

Cas smiled all slow-like. "It's fine choice. Thank you."

Then the music slowed down with her.

"So," Dean tapped his fingers to one knee before leaning to the side, smirking. "You ever do a little cloud seeding before?"

"Are you asking me," amusement danced in her steel-blue eyes, "if I've had sex?"

"Okay if I am?" Dean knew it was. He let the treble linger in his voice. The sound alone would have made any normal chick tremble, but Cas only thought he was being cute. There was something he loved about that. She always made him feel like the baby in the room. It reminded him of simpler times, when the older women were schooling him. With her, he felt like there was more to learn. Not just about sex and relationships, but about… everything.

"Yes. And…" Cas tilted her head in thought. "Yes."

"You had to think about it? It's not a hard question, Cas."

"I've never in the body of a woman. And when I have the occasion - hm. I was only a child then. It never too exciting." Castiel waved a dismissive hand and shrugged. "Our senses are dulled by our vessels. We feel perhaps a tenth of what you do. Maybe less."

Dean leaned an ear in her direction. "When you were a kid, what-what year was that again?"

"Sometime before Christ."

"Right, right," he nodded. "Why not get your freak on with other angels then?"

"I thought humans had come around to frowning on incest." She watched him for a reaction, putting his earlier smirk to shame. "They are my brothers... And if we tried, we'd create a tsunami wave the size of the eastern seaboard." Dean's eyes bulged before Cas finally decided that she'd had her fun. "I don't have genitalia, Dean."

"That's why you're all so cranky!"

"Probably."

"But there must have been someone who, uh, revved your engine once or twice, right? You got a type?" Dean almost felt weird about asking. It was suggestive. The confidence in him had fled. In its place was something that brought him back to high school, cool in his gut and then hot the next.

What about that one guy, Mark? Cas had never in the body of a woman, but did that mean she had had only ever been with women? Was Cas into gay stuff, like butt...stuff? He didn't want to know the answer, honestly, because then he'd be up all night wondering if Cas was a pitcher or a receiver. And that was just too much for his brain to handle.

"I don't usually find the race of man attractive." She looked the other way. "There have been very few exceptions."

"You're into other species?"

"Dean, in heaven I have six wings, a lion's tail, and an owl's head. Your kind would find me very strange."

He shrugged, lifted his drink, and clinked his glass to hers. "To being freaks! ...think it'll feel different with a vagina?"

"Each vessel has been a unique experience. I'm sure sex would come with its own surprises."

"So you haven't tried it out yet? Because that'd be the first thing I'd do."

"Most humans don't like to talk about sex."

"I'm not most humans."

"No. That we can agree on."

"We're only grossed out if the person we're talking to is someone we don't wanna have sex with."

"You want to have sex with me?"

"Yes- no. I don't find the _thought_ of sex with you, you know, repulsive. Now, if Bobby was going on and on about jerkin' the gherkin…?."

"I see."

"We'd have a problem."

"But discussions of my gherkin and the jerkings of it are on the table."

"...You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"There is not much to report, unfortunately." Cas drank her glass in that mature, baby-ifying way. "Not with you calling me for some favor or another every, oh, six hours?"

"Is that my average?"

"I'd say so."

"Funny, 'cus you're the one who won't let me get any sleep."

The unwinding chit-chat continued until one of the girls came over to see if she could get a bite. She was tall and thin. Long curls dangled over her shoulders. She had on this little number, sheer with a fluffy trim.

"Showtime," Dean said to Cas, who hadn't shown much interest thus far in anyone but him. Maybe she was a little gay. Or... straight now? Or both, bi. At least that part he could understand; the gender fluidity still made no sense to him. Not for the first time since Cas had come back, Dean considered picking up a book on it. There was no Sam around to peek in his suitcase or Dad to put the fear of God in him.

Not that he was about to go hang out at the Chip-n-Dales with Cas.

"Hi." The girl gave Dean a smile that was all car-salesman by a shiny red corvette.

"Hi," Dean grinned back. "What's your name?"

"Chastity," she answered. Proudly. The irony wasn't lost on Cas.

"Well, I'm Dean. This is my friend Cas."

Chastity followed his line of sight and noticed the angel sitting there. She got this look on her face - one of polite questioning. Was Cas a girlfriend? Was this a voyeur situation for a kinky couple? Should she cater to one, both, or neither?

"Cas just came out of the closet," Dean explained. "We're doing a little celebrating."

"Oh." Then, awkwardly, "Congratulations!"

Cas thanked her lamely.

"I'm not interested in much myself tonight, but do you think, for the right price-?" Dean let his voice linger again as he fingered his wallet for a handful of bills.

"Oh, suuure." Chastity looked over at Cas, voice all smooth and sexy. "I can go both ways. You're _really_ pretty, too... Bet you'll get all the ladies." She looked back at Dean, hair flipping over one shoulder. "Lapdance?"

"Yeah," he croaked, only then realizing the framing of it all. Cas sat across from him, giving him the perfect view. Chastity climbed on top, her bare bottom on display, and Dean's heart sped up. Friends be damned, he couldn't help it if he was a red blooded male.

Chastity started by massaging Cas' shoulders. Her hands slid down to the top of Cas' breasts then back up her neck and into her hair. A glossy, soft kiss was pressed to her ear. Her forehead. Her nose. Until Chastity reached her mouth and, damn it, Cas' eyes were still open. Dean wanted to tell her to relax, that she was getting special treatment, but he didn't. Any sudden movement could scare them both off.

Two girls kissing. It must have felt like butterflies smacking against each other.

Chastity took Cas' wrists and guided them to her hips. She shot Dean a look. _I'm a little bored here,_ _but I might as well_. Then her holy hands did the talking. Down Chastity's thighs then back up and over her side. Like she was affectionately petting a stray cat that had hopped up in her lap.

Cas could probably give Chastity the best orgasm of life, Dean thought. All that patience and... dexterity. She had her fuller breasts in each hand and even the stripper was surprised by the way she handled them. Legs spread, she ground over Cas' pleated skirt. There wasn't a whole lot to grind on until the angel lifted one leg up to coffee table.

They kissed again and Cas had finally remembered how to ride that particular bike.

With overly dominate tongue.

Dean's jeans were tight. Not good. Not good.

 _Gotta - get them moving, for Cas' sake..._

"How about a, uh, private room. For the two of you." Dean reached over with another large bill curled over his finger. "This outta cover it."

"Not enjoying the show?" Chastity pouted before snatching the money like a greedy little sex goblin. Cas rolled her eyes in another _c'est la vie_ before taking her hand and following her into the back.

Dean signed and scrubbed his face.

He was in so much trouble.

Three cocktails came and went. The dread went nowhere. And as good looking as the other ladies were, the thought of having one of them in a room next to Cas twisted his stomach into knots. His leg bounced restlessly and he bit the edge of his thumbnail.

Wasting no more time, Dean charged through to the back and stopped short at the only closed door. His fist raised to pound against it. But what would he say? _Sorry, Cas, I just decided I'd rather go get ice cream. You in? Bet you've never tried sprinkles!_

There was a scream. A dull thud - something had been thrown. Glass shattered. "What are you anyway, some kind of doctor? Screw you!" The door swung open and Chastity jumped, not expecting Dean to be on the other side. "And screw you, too!"

He craned his head to watch her leave before turning back to Cas, her hair noticeably more messy than the last time he'd seen her. "What the hell did you do?"

"I was only informing her that she has an infection." Her brows furrowed. "I may have offended her."

"You _may_ have _?_ " Dean laughed. "Dude, that was your opening line?"

"I am impervious to disease," she said, as if it were obvious. She stepped closer and watched Chastity's fiery wake with him. Back in the bar, she pointed at them, and a throng of bouncers headed their way. Dean grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled her through the exit.

"Why are you wheezing?" Cas snapped angrily because he was - he really was. He was doubled over for the first time in years. He could barely make it back to the car.

"You told her she had chlamydia-!"

"I was being sympathetic!" Cas lifted her arms defensively.

"St-stop, stop!" One hand slammed to the trunk of the Impala. He couldn't breath. His stomach hurt.

A finger pointed at him, the angel flushed with embarrassment as he nearly fell to his knees. "Humans are fickle creatures!"

"And I thought Sam was bad!"

"I should have never let you convince me. This is exactly what happened in Crete. You are all so sensitive!"

"What happened in Crete?! Did you tell a girl you thought her leprosy was-" Somehow, his impression of Cas turned into a Victorian butler. "Quite becoming!"

She climbed into the front seat and slammed the door behind her. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Man," Dean opened the driver's side door. "I really hope you don't die tonight. Because you are so much fun."

Cas crossed her arms and growled at him. "Take me to a liquor store."

* * *

By morning, he and Cas found themselves back at the abandoned cabin they'd scoped out before. It was a hot one. Rain poured onto the roof in buckets and lightning cracked not too far off. Sweat clung to the back of Dean's neck and he rubbed it dry with a sleeve, watching the angel out of the corner of his eye as she prepped.

When she was done, she placed the old vase in Dean's hands. "It is time for you to get going, Old Yeller."

He shifted his weight, gaze hardening. "What are you talking about?"

"This is my fight," she answered softly. Again, she threw his words back at him. "I appreciate the help, but you could be hurt, and I prefer you alive."

She even had the balls to say it affectionately.

Dean scoffed. "Your fight? Last I checked, that douchebag's been stepping in on my hunts. I'm not going anywhere. It's a good plan, Cas, and we don't leave friends behind where I come from."

"It's a terrible plan and you barely come from a small town in Kansas." The angel could never let a pretty lie be. "I suppose you agreed to be my Louise long ago."

"Damn right I did."

"Friends…" Cas shrugged her shoulders as if it were still a confusing, albeit pleasantly surprising, concept. They'd walked that line together for so long, anything different was… Jesus, unthinkable. His heart dropped into his stomach just looking at her now.

"Let's do this."

As it turned out, holy oil was incredibly effective at trapping angels. They could have left Raphael to rot for days if they'd wanted to. (Dean tucked that little secret into his back pocket for later.) He just was as surprised as they were that it worked. An angel hadn't been caught with his pants down like that in eons. They summoned a demon to witness it all, someone who could go send word back to the big guy, because after all, only an archangel could kill an archangel.

After that, they got the hell out of dodge.


End file.
